


Sleeping With Skeletons

by QuinnCliff



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (I only believe in it when its with our boys), (but don't get used to it), Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Mary, Dark Sherlock, Disturbing Themes, Disturbing thoughts, Drugged Sex, Everybody loves John, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Sherlock, Jealousy, Killing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mycroft's Meddling, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Jim, Obsessive Sherlock, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Poor John, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Jim, Possessive Sherlock, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Serial Killer Sherlock, Sherlock-centric, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Younger John, Younger Sherlock, humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinnCliff/pseuds/QuinnCliff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock sees everyone as possible victims.<br/>After he meets John he realizes the victim is himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Make room for the prey

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Uśpiony przez Szkieleta](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216070) by [Luthien_00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien_00/pseuds/Luthien_00)
  * Translation into Polski available: [Śpiący ze Szkieletami](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2690582) by [CurlySherly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlySherly/pseuds/CurlySherly)



> Hi everyone!
> 
> It's been a while that I want to write a story about SerialKiller!Sherlock and I finally found time to do so! I can promise this story will be dark and angsty, with a dose of dark fluff. But I can't promise it will have a happy ending, so be warned!
> 
> Plus, this story is not beta'd or britpicked, so forgive my mistakes, please!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it! (:

 

Sherlock always thought ordinary people were boring, that much was obvious. But he also thought from a certain point of view that they were actually quite funny. For example, a woman who crossed the street without looking both sides; and a man who drank and decided it was okay to drive. They all ended their – and other people’s – lives simply because of the illusion of immortality. Yes, ordinary people thought to be immortal, they were sure nothing would ever happen to them. Cancer? Robbery?  Car crash? Plane accident? Natural disaster? Murder? Oh no, those things would never afflict them because they were untouchable. That’s why it was so easy for Sherlock to do what he wanted to do. What he _needed_ to do.

They never saw him coming. The look of surprise on their faces when they finally figure out what was about to happen to them always gave Sherlock that beautiful rush he craved. It was almost as good as slowly killing them. He had a pattern, of course, a decent serial killer needed to have a signature so he would be remembered.  And although Sherlock always told himself he didn’t do it to show off, he knew it was not quite truth. He liked people fearing him; he liked to see the news portraying him as this demoniac monster. He felt _powerful_.

Sherlock turned the music up on his car’s radio. The only annoying thing that his… _Work_ caused was the constant moving. He could kill three people in one town and then he had to move to another one. It was a cycle that sometimes really tired him, but he kept going anyway. For all his life Sherlock needed something to help calm the storm of his mind. When he was a child he had Redbeard; when he was a teenager he had drugs; and now he had _it_. Killing. He’s been doing it for two years now, and in all this time the police had never even gotten a single clue that could lead to him. Of course they never would, Sherlock was much smarter than them and knew exactly what they would look for.

Wind was heavy on his face, his dark curls dancing on his head. The sun was setting and the road was lonely, an interesting analogy with his own life. This new village was even smaller than the last one, which meant he would have to be extra careful. Just the thought of that made him feel good, or as good as he could anyway, he wasn’t the type to feel much. He always tried to deduce what kind of people lived there just by looking at the buildings. That didn’t matter, though, he was not picky. He usually preferred annoying and ignorant people; fortunately these were the most common kind, really easy to be found, so he didn’t worry.

The village was finally showing, its small brick houses appearing at sight. He could see clearly it was a very traditional place, where people probably went to the church every Sunday and had tea every afternoon, maybe even had book clubs and biscuit parties. Sherlock snorted and turned the radio off. He was entering the narrow streets now and his good civilian mask was ready to be put on. He knew just how to make people trust him. It was very easy. The fact he was handsome definitely helped with that. People found easier to trust attractive people than ugly people.

He drove until he found a small inn named “The White Horse”. It seemed well-kept enough, and it probably was the best place for him to stay in the village. Sherlock pulled the car up and got out carrying his backpack and suitcase. As soon as he entered the hall he analyzed the place with quick eyes, concluding that it was a family business that was going on for generations. They were Anglicans; had two dogs in their house that they usually brought to the hotel; currently they had five more guests, more than they usually had in a month.

“Good evening! Can I help you?” A woman said behind the balcony. The mother.

Sherlock scrutinized her in a speed that she wouldn’t even notice the act. _She’s around fifty, addicted to crosswords, drinks scotch hidden from her family, doesn’t really appreciate the dogs, and hasn’t been sleeping well lately._ “Good evening, madam. I’d a like a room, please.” Sherlock said with a smile on his face.

She smiled back. Sherlock could almost see the pounds signs on her eyes. “Of course. Is it only you?”

“Yes”, he said letting his suitcase rest on the floor.

“Okay. I have a good one on the third floor. Breakfast and room service are, of course, included on the price. You won’t find anything better around here, I guarantee you.” She grinned.

“I’ll take it.” He smiled.

“Good! You pay the first night now and then the rest when you’re checking out. Alright? I’ll need you to fill this form too, just normal procedure.” She handed him a blue paper with the usual questions.

When Sherlock filled everything, he gave it back to her with the first part of the money. She took the paper, read it for some moments and then looked at him with a broad smile on her round face. “You’re from London? That’s nice. And you’re name is Sherlock Holmes, very unusual but nonetheless beautiful.”

Such a typical business person. “Thank you”, he simply said. One thing he learned was not to give any more information about him. The things people needed to know to trust him was his name, where he was from and that he had money. All the rest he made it up or didn’t say at all.

“I’m going to ask my son to help you with the suitcase.” She said, turning her head to a back door behind the balcony. “Victor!”

Some minutes later a tall boy came to sight all flushed from running. “Yes, mom?”

“Help Mr. Holmes here taking his suitcase to the third floor. Room 302.” She said, and Sherlock noticed how her tone changed from saleswoman to mother. She was obviously not happy with her family.

“Of course.” Victor walked to Sherlock and took his suitcase from the floor. “Hello and welcome.” He said with a smile that felt genuine.

“Hello. Thank you.” Sherlock said smiling back. He followed the boy upstairs.

Victor was some centimeters taller than him, but skinnier. His hair was platinum blonde and his face was covered with freckles. Small green eyes and thin nose gave him an almost classic look; he was probably considered attractive for the ordinary standards. Closeted homosexual; darting student; lonely boy and sad son. If Sherlock could feel anything, he’d be sorry for the young.

“There you go.” Victor said when he unlocked a blue door and opened it for Sherlock.

The room was bigger than he thought it would be. There was a bed in the middle and a bedside table with a lamp on it; a mirror; a table near the window and a wooden wardrobe. There was also a small bathroom on the left side. The decoration was just like the rest of the inn, blue and white. “Thanks, it’s very cozy.” Sherlock said forcing a small chuckle.

Victor put his suitcase over the bed and walked to the door but reluctantly stopped. “Anything you want, feel free to ask me. I’m Victor, but I guess you heard my mom calling me.” He blushed a little looking to the floor.

“Yes, but it’s nice to hear you saying it.” Sherlock grinned at him. “I’m Sherlock Holmes, please call me Sherlock.”

“Sherlock…” He rolled the name on his tongue. “I’ll let you resting. See you later?”

“Sure.” Sherlock smiled and nodded.

When the boy closed the door Sherlock fell on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It is definitely a good start. Although killing the son of the hotel’s owners would give him some issues, attract the attention to him too much. But damn it wasn’t Victor a good prey? And he was interested in Sherlock, that much was clear. It would be easy to terminate him. Sherlock wondered if he would be the kind of victim that cried and begged for his life or if he would be the quiet type. Anyway he knew he would very much like to see another insignificant shy boy terrorized and surprised at Sherlock’s real self. Victor would provide just that. But he needed to plan more so he wouldn’t lift suspicions on himself, maybe he could blame the parents… They didn’t get along well, Sherlock noticed, so the police wouldn’t have problems concluding that they did it. _Hum, good start indeed_.

Sherlock stood up and opened his luggage. He organized his clothes in the wardrobe but left his “work instruments” on the false bottom of his suitcase, keeping it under the bed. After that he took a shower and got dressed. Burgundy shirt, black trousers and his usual dark blue coat. He was ready for the hunt; after all he wasn’t the kind that wasted time.

When he arrived at the common room he found Victor seated on the sofa next to a skinny short girl. He walked towards them and sat on the opposite armchair. “Good evening”, he smiled.

“Good evening, Sherlock.” Victor grinned and turned to the girl beside him. “Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes, our new guest. Sherlock, this is Molly Hooper, she studies with me.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Molly said shyly.

“It’s my pleasure.” Sherlock answered.

Molly was a mousy girl, not very pretty but some people would certainly consider her cute. She had long brown hair that was pulled in a ponytail and big brown eyes that couldn’t look to Sherlock for too long. _Another shy one_. _Good student, works in a boutique, no romantic experiences, asthmatic, definitely interested. First day, two birds with one stone._

“We’re going to go eat something. Want to come with us?” Victor asked.

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, it’ll be great.” Victor grinned and they all stood up.

Sherlock thought they were going to a pub but they actually ended up in a small Italian restaurant. Victor leaded them to one of the back booths, as soon as they were settled the waiter came to take their requests.

“So, Sherlock, my mother said you’re from London?” Victor started the conversation when they were left alone.

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded.

“My dream is to live there!” Molly said. “Do you go to University?”

“Yes actually, I’m graduating in Chemistry.” That was true, although he had no idea when he would finish the damned course.

“That’s nice. I want to go to the medical field, not sure which area though.” She said, eating one of the breadsticks on the table. She looked at Victor. “Vic wants to be a physicist, right Vic?”

“Yeah, but that’s unlikely.” He said dropping his eyes to his hands.

“Why’s that?” Sherlock pretended to frown.

“This bloody place! We can’t be anything here. We’re in college, but there’s not much more than that for our future.” Victor seemed truly annoyed.

“Your parents don’t support you going away to study in a big city?” Sherlock asked.

They both shook their heads, but Molly spoke. “They are very traditional. Most of the families here have business and they want us to continue that. So if we decide to break the cycle it would be a shame.” She sighed biting the breadstick. “My parents have that stupid boutique, Victor’s have the hotel. College is the maximum they will allow us to do, and we have no way to move away on our own.”

“That’s why John is thinking about the army, he would be out of here and even get a chance to study properly. I wouldn’t do it, though, wars scare the shit out of me.” Victor said.

The waiter came back with their food and Sherlock realized he was actually hungry, maybe it’s been a day since he had last eaten. They were all in silence for some minutes, just enjoying the hot pasta. Molly was the one who broke it. “So, Sherlock, can I ask what are you doing here?”

“Sure. I’m working on a project for Uni, and I needed a calm place to think. So I made my researches and found out that the birds here are the quietest ones in the country.” He giggled, taking a sip of his drink.

Victor and Molly laughed. “I’ll thank a bird every time I see one then.” Victor said still red from the laughter.

“Why?” Sherlock tilted his head.

“Oh…” Victor looked everywhere expect at Sherlock’s eyes. “Because of him I got to know you. I mean, you are different. It’s nice to know people from outside sometimes.”

“Very nice, yes.” Molly agreed smiling.

“Oh thank you.” Sherlock answered eating some of his macaroni. “I’m very lucky for meeting you two.”

_You have no idea._


	2. It's just a fad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support, all the comments/bookmarks/kudos inspire a loooot!
> 
> Chapter not betad or britpicked, so forgive the mistakes I make, please.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! (:

 

Sherlock woke up with the sun hitting his face through the thin curtains on his bedroom window. He got up, took a shower, dressed and went downstairs. There were already some people at the breakfast table, Victor and his mom were serving coffee to the guests when Sherlock sat. “Good morning”, he said grabbing some pancakes from a plate.

“Good morning, Sherlock!” Victor said without hiding his excitement. “Slept well?”

“Very well, thank you.” Sherlock smiled when Victor poured him some coffee.

Victor finally sat down in front of him, picking some toast and butter. “Oh, Sherlock, let me introduce you to the other guests. This is Dylan Johnson. This is Rupert Hover. And this is Irene Adler.” Victor said pointed at the woman seated at the end of the table.

“Nice to meet you.” She said smiling, but it wasn’t a very nice smile.

Sherlock could easily deduce all of the other guests. _Counter, cheating his wife, smokes weed every morning; Banker, likes to shoot birds and has clinical insomnia._ He couldn’t, though, deduce anything about Miss Adler. She had a lean figure, big shinning blue eyes and dark wavy hair. She was the second person in his entire life that he couldn’t read. The first was his obnoxious older brother, Mycroft. “Nice to meet you too”, he simply answered. She gave him a proud grin and he felt extremely frustrated. _Smart, that is the only thing I’m sure of_.

“Well, if you all excuse me, I have to go.” Irene said, standing up and walking out of the room with her plate and glass.

Sherlock couldn’t hold back a sigh. He hated not being able to know everything. But he would find out what a woman like Irene was doing in a place like this, it just didn’t fit. His thoughts were disturbed by Victor’s hand touching his arm. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” Sherlock said, mind coming back to the present.

“We’re going to camp in the forest this weekend; it’s not very far from here, actually. Do you want to come?” Victor asked, his tone was calm but his eyes were pleading.

Camping? Sherlock had never camped in his entire life, how could he? But the idea seemed appealing. A bit cliché, but so enticing. Of course it would be too risky for him to kill someone in the forest, although very seductive. Unless he made it look like it was a wild animal or something, but that would be highly unlikely. _I’ll put the blame in someone else then, easy. Done that many times before._ That could bring problems anyway, but he knew if he thought about it he would find some way. Well, the details could be managed later. Sherlock knew what his answer was, “Of course.”

Victor’s face lightened up, “Great, we’ll meet in front of the gas station tomorrow morning.”

Sherlock nodded, “How many people are going?” _So I can start making plans._

Victor bit his lip, thinking. “Let’s see… You and I, Molly, John and Mary, Mike, and… I don’t know for sure if Sebastian and Jim will go as well, but that’s it.”

Two girls and maybe six boys. What if… What if he had a blood orgy? He could kill all of them and then vanish. It would be nice if the forest had a waterfall, he could throw their bodies there after he cut them into pieces. His mouth watered at the image of such beautiful things. Sherlock forced himself to stop his reveries when he caught Victor staring at him with a strange look on his eyes. The genius killer cleared his throat. “Okay. So, do you need help with anything?”

Victor shook his head. “No, thanks. But remember to pack some winter clothes and boots, also if you have a torch and a compass would help a lot.” The platinum blonde smiled and stood up when his mother’s voice called him from another room. “I gotta go, see you later?”

“Sure”, Sherlock smiled.

\--

It was easy to find out which room was Irene’s. And it was easier to break into it. As predicted the woman wasn’t anywhere to be found. Usually Sherlock would know exactly what a girl like her would be doing, but now he had no idea. He didn’t even know what kind of girl she was if he was going to be honest. Well, what mattered was that she was absent and he could search through her bedroom for any clue that showed at least something about the woman.

There were no personal touches on the place; everything was as the inn had arranged them. Sherlock opened the wardrobe and found only three dresses. One white, one blue and one black. They didn’t tell anything about her. Sherlock went to her bed and it was deftly made up with no sign of anything special. The bedside table was empty, just like the other table next to the window. Sherlock walked to her bathroom and the only added thing there was her toothbrush that revealed absolutely nothing. _Fuck! Who the hell is this woman?_

With a frustrated sigh he left the room, locking it on his way out.

\--

That night, after Sherlock had packed his backpack, he put on his coat and was ready go downstairs when someone knocked on the door. Sherlock opened with a casual grin. “Hello, Victor.”

“Hey, Sherlock!” The boy blushed and looked down shyly. “I was wondering if you want to go out again, you know, have dinner…”

Sherlock stepped forward into Victor’s personal space and closed the door behind him. “That’s what I was going to ask you, actually. So of course, I’d love to.”

Victor’s face went even redder. “R-really? You were going to ask me?”

“Yes, I am very fond of your company”, Sherlock lied with a smirk.

“Oh… Oh t-that’s… Wow. I really like yours too. Sorry, I sound like an idiot.” Victor giggled nervously.

Sherlock touched his arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “No, you don’t. You sound adorable, and I think that it suit you well.”

Victor seemed to tremble a little bit at Sherlock’s words but he apparently found the strength to stand straight and walk downstairs. “I was thinking about an Irish restaurant, it’s actually owned by one of our friend’s parents.”

“That sounds good.” Sherlock smiled. “Is Molly coming with us?”

Victor seemed to tense for a second, he turned to look at Sherlock as they reached the exit door. “No… Would you like her to come?” He asked and there was something like sadness and worry in his tone.

“No, no. I was actually wondering we could be alone.” Sherlock leaned forward and his face was only a few inches from Victor’s. He reached his arm to open the door. “Please”, he told Victor as he held it for him to leave.

The boy blinked a few times and turned around to get out of the inn. Sherlock followed and they both walked to the destined restaurant. After a few minutes of silence, Victor crossed his arms and got his body closer to Sherlock’s. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I mean… I barely know you, but there’s something about you that makes me feel… Safe.”

Sherlock almost laughed out loud at the irony. Instead he gave Victor his most gentle smile, “I understand you, and I’m glad you feel this way because I feel the same.” Sherlock looked down, faking a deep thought about the situation. “When I’m with you I feel comfortable. You make me feel better, Victor.”

He felt the body next to his shiver. Sherlock was controlling himself not to burst into laughter. Ordinary people were so easy to fool. It was almost as if they came with a recipe or a use manual. Victor looked at him with bright eyes. “Do you… Do you believe in love at first fight?”

Sherlock’s mind palace gave him a stand ovation for all the strength he gathered not to throw himself on the floor and laugh to death. The genius didn’t even believe in love, imagine love at first sight. He found it was quite offensive to be asked such a ridiculous question. Love at first sight was just a stupid thing created to blindfold the idiot teenagers all over the word so they wouldn’t think of anything productive. Sherlock looked back at Victor with an innocent gaze. “Now I do.”

_I deserve a bloody award!_

Victor stopped and just stood still in the middle of the sidewalk. Sherlock did the same before reaching his hands to cradle the boy’s freckled face. He just looked at him for a while, trying to create a romantic scene. He had done it before, of course, and each time was easier. Victor seemed to agree; he closed his eyes and parted his lips for Sherlock. With a smug smirk the dark haired young kissed his prey.

\--

The next morning Sherlock was already showered and dressed when Victor came knocking on his door. He put his backpack on his shoulder and opened the door. “Hello there”, he grinned at the boy who immediately blushed at the sight of Sherlock.

“Hey, Sherlock”, Victor said, voice passionate. “You’re ready?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

As they walked to the gas station where the others were waiting, Sherlock noticed that Victor wanted to hold his hand. He wouldn’t allow it, of course. Everything had a limit. But it was quite amusing how much he could get with a few gestures and some empty words. He knew that if he had some more hours with Molly he would be able to achieve the same. Not only with them, but all the other ordinary people he might find in this camp thing.

“Oh look, they are already there”, Victor pointed and waved at some kids waiting on the back of a grey pickup truck. “Hey guys!” The platinum blonde boy exclaimed at them when they got closer.

There were two girls seated and one boy standing. One of the girls Sherlock recognized as Molly. “Hi, boys!” She said waving at them with a big smile.

“Sherlock, you know Molly. And this is Mary Morstan and that’s Mike Stamford.” Victor gestured to the other girl and the boy. “Guys, this is Sherlock Holmes, he’s staying at my family’s inn. He’s from London!”

Mary was blonde and taller than Molly, had big light blue eyes and a nose and mouth too big for her face. She was wearing a flowered shirt and jeans shorts. Sherlock saw she wasn’t very good at school, but didn’t worry much about things; had sex the night before; was good at lying and wasn’t very trustable; was on the volleyball school team; had a bulimic past. The boy, Mike, had brown hair and hazel eyes, was trying on the third diet that month with no luck; liked to cheat at school; wasn’t used to go out with friends, in fact he didn’t have many friends; worked part time on a market, probably family business.

After they all had smiled and said hi, Sherlock nodded his head in politeness. “Nice to meet you all”, he said.

“Where’s John?” Victor asked Mary.

“He’s buying some snacks at the shop”, she pointed her thumb to the store behind her at the gas station.

“Do you have any news from Jim and Sebastian?” Victor asked Molly now.

“Jim texted me this morning saying they’re going but will be a little late”, she answered.

“That’s news.” Mike muttered.

“Hey everybody!”

Sherlock turned his head to look at the direction from where this new – and lovely? – voice was coming. He was cursing himself mentally for finding a voice ‘lovely’ but all of his thoughts stopped at once in the moment his eyes caught sight at the boy walking towards them holding some plastic bags.

“John!” Victor greeted him. “Sherlock, this is John Watson. John, this is Sherlock Holmes.”


	3. It's gonna hurt and I love the pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people!
> 
> Thank you all for the comments/kudos/bookmarks. They mean a lot to me, you have no idea! <3
> 
> Well, as usual this chapter is not betad or britpicked, so please forgive my mistakes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! (:

 

Sherlock knew John Watson was going to be trouble in his life the first moment he saw him. The boy was short but deliciously compact; his hair was golden and seemed soft as silk; his eyes were like the deepest part of the Atlantic; his nose and mouth were perfect for his adorable but strong face. Sherlock had never felt attracted to someone else before, he was pretty sure to be asexual. He knew now, though, that he couldn’t be asexual, not with all this strange desire to grab the boy, shove him against a wall and snog the hell out of him. He felt something else too, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. There was nothing to compare that to.

How could he describe the urge to wrap John into his arms and protect him from the world at the same time he wanted to cut him open and see every single detail of his body from the inside out? How should he call the will to just stare at the boy forever but also remove his eyes so he couldn’t look at anyone else but Sherlock? What is the name when you want to make the other person the happiest being on the planet but also want to destroy his entire life so he could think of Sherlock as the center of his universe? Everything was so confusing and intense. The genius had convinced himself for so long that he couldn’t feel anything for being a sociopath, that now with all these overwhelming sensations he felt ungrounded.

Sherlock only realized he was staring and still as a statue when Victor’s voice interrupted his stormy thoughts. “Sherlock? Are you alright?”

Sherlock blinked a couple of times and smiled, “Sorry, sometimes I got caught up inside my mind.”

John – beautiful and terrifying John – who was standing before him, chuckled softly. “Oh I’m happy to know I’m not the only one!”

Sherlock felt his body quivering and he wanted to punch himself for it. No, he wanted to hurt John – but not really - for making him feel that way. It was stupid, so silly. He was Sherlock Holmes, genius, sociopathic serial killer. He didn’t do feelings. But still, the simple act of John talking to _Sherlock_ , directing his words to _Sherlock_ , staring with those deep blue eyes at _Sherlock_ was exhilarating and made his guts do a back flip. When Sherlock finally found the strength to speak, he was cut off by Mary.

“Yeah, John sometimes enters in auto-pilot. I wonder where he goes inside this little head of his”, she said with fondness on her voice.

_Too much fondness_ , Sherlock thought. Who did this girl think she was? Sherlock turned his head to look at her and by the way she was looking at John – and the way John was now looking at her – Sherlock understood everything. _They are dating_ , he thought with disgust. John was the one she had had sex the night before. Sherlock felt sick. The mere idea of John Watson, angel like, being touched by such a vulgar girl was enough for Sherlock to pick up the most painful death he had on his files inside his Killing Room in his mind palace and plan it for the obnoxious Mary. He organized a list of everybody who was going to camping and he made sure to put Mary Morstan’s name on the top marked on red with an observation that said _‘kill slowly’._

“I go to the Enchant Forest and sing with the little blue birds”, John teased and leaned on the car to peck Mary on the lips.

Sherlock’s hands itched to grab the material he had brought on his backpack and start his work on Mary right there, luckily for her anything he might have said or done was interrupted by a the sound of screeching tires. All of them turned their heads to look at the burgundy BMW that abruptly stopped a few inches from the pickup truck. Through the corner of his eyes, Sherlock saw Molly sighing.

“Jim”, she breathed, rolling her eyes.

When the doors opened a tall sturdy ginger boy came out of the driver’s seat and a short dark haired one came from the passenger’s. Sherlock couldn’t be sure if it was his ecstatic mind or if the shorter boy was indeed glaring hungrily at John as he walked towards the other people. “Hi, you guys!” The dark haired said.

“Hey, Jim. I thought you’d never arrive”, Victor said before turning his head to Sherlock. “Sherlock, this is James Moriarty. Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.”

James Moriarty stopped right in front of Sherlock, and his brown eyes scanned the entirety of the killer. Sherlock understood immediately what the boy was doing. _Deducing_. Moriarty was clearly intelligent - maybe as much as Sherlock -, his posture indicated he was confident enough for doing or saying anything he wanted it, so if he didn’t comment that Sherlock was dangerous it was because he probably thought it would be fun to play with him. “Hello”, Sherlock said.

“Hi!” Jim turned his head and pointed at the ginger boy who just came to stand beside him. “This is Sebastian Moran. Sebby, this is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Hey”, Sebastian said.

Sherlock greeted him with a nod. Sebastian didn’t seem very bright, but he surely knew how to kick arse. It was obvious for Sherlock that Moriarty kept him close for protection, and that Sebastian stayed with him for _sentiment_. Sherlock’s eyes instinctively turned to look at John, who was now immersed in a conversation with Mary, Molly and Mike.

“Okay, we’re all here! Shall we go?” Victor exclaimed excited.

“Do you want to come with us, Sherlock?” John asked, smiling.

His smile could light up Paris ten times brighter. Sherlock wondered how John walked on the streets without being assaulted. He wanted to just grab the boy by his chin and break all of his teeth so no one else would see this beautiful expression of his. In fact, it would be only fair if he could mutilate and disfigure the boy, so that he would keep all of the rest of the world away, nobody would do as much as look at the boy again. Although, just the thought of hurting John made his guts do that weird flip he didn’t quite comprehend. So maybe Sherlock should just lock him down in a secret place and keep him there at his mercy.

“I think it’s better if Sherlock come with me in Jim’s car. Mike could go with you, guys”, Victor said, trying to hide some kind of anxiety in his voice.

Sherlock quickly spoke, “No, it’s okay. I’d like to go with you, John.”

“Awesome, let’s go then.” John said getting inside the car.

Victor looked at Sherlock quizzically. “Are you sure?”

Sherlock shrugged, “Yeah, why not?”

“It’s just that I thought…” Victor started but the BMW horn interrupted him.

“Come on, boys!” Molly screamed to them from the back seats of the burgundy car.

Victor gave Sherlock one last look and he seemed about to say something but the genius didn’t give him the chance, he just walked away towards the grey pickup. He slided next to John and closed the door. Mary started the engines and the car started moving. Sherlock had to focus on keeping his breathing steady and calm; it was terrifying to have John’s body so close to his, their shoulders bumping as the car passed through some holes on the road. It was ridiculous to feel this way, actually it was ridiculous to feel at all. He didn’t even know the boy, so why was he so entranced by him? It felt so natural to _want_ John.

Sherlock thought about the deductions he made when he first looked at John and then things started to make sense – not all, but most of them. John was a human contradiction. He could see everything in his gorgeous eyes and in each of his transparent expressions. Strong, but vulnerable; brave, but sensible; determined, but unmotivated; extroverted, but discreet; hardheaded, but likes to follow rules. John looked so common, but he was so fascinating. It was everything way too scary for Sherlock, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t loving it. _Loving it_? Since when the word love was part of his vocabulary? Well, apparently since John Watson.

“So Sherlock, Victor said you are from London. What the hell are you doing in a place like this?” Mary asked.

It was such an ordinary question, so foreseeable. But what else could Sherlock expect from a vulgar person like her? When he was getting ready to give the formulated speech to her, John spoke.

“I have a better question: how did you know that coming with us would be the best deal?” John smirked.

Sherlock used all of his self-control not to blush _. Blush, what an absurd._ Now that was an interesting question. Of course it was, his John was far from being ordinary. _Since when John is yours? Since I laid eyes on him._ Sherlock grinned and said, “Molly would probably criticize Sebastian for driving too fast, Jim would mock her for being afraid, Mike would complain about the air conditioner and Victor would…”

“Hit on you like a boss!” Mary teased, laughing.

John turned his head to Sherlock and his mouth gaped in fake shock. “Yes?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but giggle at that. He didn’t pay attention to the fact that hehad never giggled honestly before in his life. “Well, yes, he would.”

“Didn’t you realize, John? Pretty obvious by the way he was crowding Sherlock!” Mary said, her face flushed from the laughter.

 John’s brows furrowed and Sherlock thought he had never seen something so adorable. “I’m always the last to understand!” John sighed.

“So you two have a thing?” Mary asked.

“Mary! That’s not our business”, John censured her.

Sherlock didn’t waste time; he needed to make sure John knew he was free. Not that would stop him from getting what he wanted. “Oh no. He was just nice to me when I first arrived, so I returned the niceness. Maybe he confused things.”

“That sounds like Victor. He had a crush on John some years ago in high school!” Mary chuckled.

Sherlock felt his body freeze. Victor Trevor had filthy intentions towards his John? The platinum blonde boy just drew with Mary in the first place on Sherlock’s ‘massacre camping list’. Quickly he took another file from the Killing Room, slowly and painful category.

“Really?” Sherlock asked, hiding his anger.

“Yeah, but I made it clear that I am not gay.” John said matter-of-factly.

_We’ll see about that, John._

“I can confirm it for sure”, Mary said and tilted her head to kiss John.

Sherlock felt the vomit coming to his throat. Perhaps he should kill both Victor and Mary together and explain them his reasons before he started the torture. He had never killed more than one at once, but there was always a first time. This little town just proved that to Sherlock by introducing him to John.

“For how long are you two together?”

“He’s mine for four years and a half”, Mary said giving John a devious grin.

_He was never yours, Mary. You’re just a rock on the way. I’m here now, John’s true owner. Just wait and see._

“Oh I’m so happy for you two.”


	4. A breeding ground for hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Sorry it took me so long to update this chapter, I promise the next one will be faster!
> 
> Remember this is not betad or britpicked, so forgive my mistakes, please!
> 
> Thank you all for the support! Hope you enjoy it! ;*

 

The meadow where they were setting up the camp was pleasant, or maybe Sherlock only thought that because of the beautiful way John’s golden hair was being bathed by sunshine. They set up three tents; the plan was Molly and Mary sleep in one – the boys agreed they didn’t want to listen to John and Mary having sex while they slept, Sherlock had never felt more relief -, Victor, Mike and Sherlock in another and John, Jim and Sebastian in the last one. Obviously Sherlock would find a way to change the arrangement so he could sleep in John’s tent or vice-versa. His cock throbbed with the thought of being so close to John inside such a small place, to feel his warmth…

The sun was starting to set when everything was tidy and fixed. They were all sweating and tired, but somehow still feeling very excited about the whole thing. “So, I think we should all bath and go build a fire so we can eat. What do you say?” Mary said stretching her arms above her head.

They all agreed with nods and murmurs. “There’s a huge lake around here. Boys, we go on the left. Girls, you go right. It’s opposite sides of the same lake. Alright?” Victor said, grabbing some towels and clean clothes.

Sherlock took his dark blue robe and his white towel while the others were doing the same. When they were all ready, they walked towards the lake. And it was a hell of a lake. The orange light coming from the sky only made it look more appealing and shinning. Sherlock wondered if there were any bodies in the deep water, probably another killer had realized what a great device it was. So no waterfall, just a lake. It will do. If he put pebbles and rocks inside the corpse’s pockets they would sank heavily until the bottom of the lake. And he already knew which one of them would be the first to go down.

“Is the water cold?” Mike asked as they all undressed.

Someone answered Mike, but Sherlock didn’t hear. In fact the entire world faded when John started to take off his clothes. His body was even more delicious than he was expecting. Well defined chest; stomach not six-packed but flat and firm; arms not muscled, but strong; legs just on the right size. John Watson was a wonder of nature. Sherlock had to clench his teeth and stop his jaw from dropping at the beautiful sight.

“Sherlock? Let’s go”, Victor said touching his shoulder.

Sherlock rubbed his hands over his face and realized the boys were all getting inside the water. Victor smiled and walked to join the rest. Sherlock noticed he was trying to parade and show off his body. The genius had to contain a laugh. Victor was so plain and boring, so different from his John. Sherlock quickly undressed and headed to lake. The water was warm and it felt good on his chilled skin.

“Stop it, Jim!” John exclaimed, half kidding and half serious.

Moriarty was tickling and splashing water on John. “Come on, Johnny boy. You know you like it”, the dark haired boy teased making everybody giggle.

Sherlock didn’t like all this intimacy. It was quite suspicious, to be honest. Everyone else would think the boys were just playing like any other friend would do, but Sherlock saw more. He saw desire and fondness on Moriarty’s face while he tried to touch John. He also perceived how John’s features were on defensive mode and not relaxed like he was around the other boys. _Something happened_. Sherlock needed to find out what. Did Jim try something else with John? Did he force himself on John? Jim Moriarty was not a trustful person, that much was obvious. He seemed interesting at first sight, but if he had any kind of feelings and fantasies towards the object of Sherlock’s obsession, then he would pay. And he would pay with his life.

“Don’t they have sun in London? You’re so pale!” Mike said to Sherlock while he washed himself.

“Am I hurting your sensitive eyes?” Sherlock mused, making the boys laugh.

“I like your skin, Sherlock”, Victor said quietly.

“You have porcelain skin. They’re just envy.” John said smiling, diving his head on the water to wash his hair.

Sherlock wished he had tentacles so he could grab the boys and shove them away roughly; maybe squeezing them so much their brains would come out through their eyes; or their stomach would separate from their legs, causing their body to fall into pieces on the water. Then he would grab John and take him down with him, lock the blonde inside a cave and watch as his unconscious body gave in to Sherlock. Although, he knew he would prefer John better pretty conscious. Was he loud in bed? _I bet his moans will be like honey to my ears._ Sherlock would know it soon.

“Do you have a girlfriend back there, Sherlock?” Moriarty asked. To the ordinary, his question probably sounded common, but to Sherlock it sounded way too witty and sharp.

“Not really my area”, Sherlock answered.

“So you mean boys are your area?” Jim sang, tilting his head foolishly.

Sherlock could almost hear Victor’s heart beating faster and he held the urge to grimace. He wished it was John’s heart to beat faster at the situation, but his blonde boy was calm and chilled whilst he spread the soap through his wet body. Sherlock’s mind deviated for a moment wondering how it would feel like to lick John from head to toe, tasting him… “Why not?” Sherlock said.

“Why not indeed! Don’t worry, Sherlock dear. Boys are my area too!” Jim said slyly smiling and for an unnoticeable second his eyes flicked to John, although his hand touched Sebastian’s shoulder. The ginger boy was awkwardly still on his side, but Sherlock noticed how his chest and face were flushed at Moriarty’s touch. “Victor’s too, right?” Jim’s voice was high pitched now, mocking.

Victor’s lips parted and he seemed to have been struck by lightning. For a moment he just kept staring at all the boys, eyes nervously shifting from face to face. When he tried to speak, a weird choked noise came out of his mouth.

“It’s okay, Victor. If you do, it’s fine. And if you don’t, it’s fine too”, John said trying to soothe the boy.

“I-I… Well.” Victor shook his head and scratched his arms roughly with his fingernails.

“Why don’t you say, little Victor?” Jim hummed.

“Jim, stop it now. We’re all having a good time here, why do you get off making everything uncomfortable?” John said to Moriarty, his tone severe.

“That’s not the only thing I get off with, you know…” Jim murmured, giving John a mischievous smirk.

Sebastian laughed. John scoffed and rolled his eyes, walking out of the water. “I’m clean enough”, he said with a sigh.

“Are you, though?” Jim asked smiling.

John only gave him a mad look and then turned to take his towel. Sherlock was so full of rage it was almost tangible. In fact, he wished he could build an axe with his hating feelings and just shove it down Jim’s neck, watching blood splashing on the crystal clear water. He scribbled Moriarty’s name right on the top of his list with Mary and Victor.

All of Sherlock’s thoughts vanished though, when he set eyes to John’s cock. While the blonde was drying his hair, his member stood half hard between thick light brown pubic hairs. It was above average and with a beautiful pink head that Sherlock wished it was between his lips right now. He couldn’t wait to drop on his knees and suck the boy off while he opened him slowly with his fingers. How did John look when he was being pleasurable? Did his eyes roll back? Did his cheeks turn red? Did his toes curl on the sheets? Did his nails scratch hard on Sherlock’s back?

Sherlock snapped out of his reveries when he noticed the other boys were starting to leave the water too. When Sherlock was about to do the same Victor grabbed his arm and got closer. “I want to speak to you later, if you don’t mind…”

Sherlock hold back a sigh. Trying to smile as gentle as possible he said, “Can’t talk now?”

Victor bit his lower lip. “Well, it’s about _that_ , so…”

Sherlock felt incredibly annoyed before he felt incredibly lucky. That would be the perfect opportunity to end Victor. And now he knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He couldn’t bring all the weapons he wanted to the camping, but he could be very creative with the ones he brought. “Oh of course. Do you want to do this before we eat?”

Victor considered for a moment. “I think my digestion would be better if we do”, he giggled.

_I find that hard to conceive, since you will have no digestive system by there._

“Okay, let’s get dry and then we can walk around. What do you think?”

“Great”, Victor said.

\--

The early evening air was cold but it felt pleasant on Sherlock’s heated skin. His body always had a bit of a fever when he was about to kill. It knew good things were coming soon.

“Why are you bringing your backpack?” Victor asked as they walked side by side on the woods.

_To play doctor with you._

“In case I find some interesting samples for researches”, Sherlock answered pulling one branch aside so they could step forward.

“Oh… Nice.” Victor looked down for a moment before staring at Sherlock again, eyes shining. “So, I was wondering if you would like to do that again…”

“Do what?” Sherlock knew exactly what the boy was talking about, but he wanted to gain time so they could walk far enough from the meadow, just to make sure no one would listen to their little action. Or _his_ little action, to be more specific.

“Kiss me”, Victor said shyly.

“Why?” Sherlock asked teasingly smirking at the threes.

“You know… I told you. I like you very much, in fact I think I… Well, it’s probably too soon to say it but I’ve never felt this way so… I think I’m in love with you”, Victor clasped his hands anxiously.

Sherlock turned his head to look behind them. They were finally far enough. _Let the fun begin._

“I know. I feel the same thing…” Sherlock said, taking Victor’s hands on his own. “But not for you.”

Victor frowned and the look on his eyes was so sad it made Sherlock grin wide. “Eh…”

Before the boy could say anything stupid, Sherlock squeezed his hand and abruptly twisted it.

He heard the bone crack.


	5. I've no respect for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> Thank you all for the support, you have no idea how it inspires me! (:
> 
> So, this chapter is very dark and has some intense descriptions of violence. I don't think it will bother you, though, cuz that's what you hope to find in a Darklock SerialKillerLock fic, right? lol
> 
> Plus, it's not beta'd, so excuse my mistakes, please!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it ;*

 

“Hush now, don’t be overdramatic”, Sherlock whispered on Victor’s ear.

One hand covered the boy’s mouth while the other held the broken wrists together in a hard grip. Sherlock was able to shut Victor up before he made too much noise. He knew that if Victor fought him now he could run away, but the pain he was feeling and the shock were keeping him grounded at Sherlock’s mercy. The genius squeezed the broken bones harder and shoved the boy on the floor. Victor was a sobbing mess, his body shaking violently. Sherlock knew, though, that he wouldn’t get louder now because the panic was still bigger than the pain.

Sherlock pulled his old – but very sharp – knife from the backpack. He was going to start with it first. “Hey Victor, look at me. I need you to do me favor, will you?”

The prey made a choked noise but couldn’t say more. He tried to crawl away from Sherlock, but the killer grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face to the earthy ground. Kneeling next to the boy’s squirming body, Sherlock reached to grab Victor’s phone on his back pocket. “Look at me, Victor. That’s it. Now, I need you to calm down.”

Victor was almost getting courage enough to scream but then he looked Sherlock’s shinning knife - that in the moment was being caressed by the predator’s thumb. “You’re crazy”, Victor whispered between tears.

“That’s a very dull choice of adjective, Victor. Really, I was expecting more from you.” Sherlock said without looking at the boy, his eyes focused on the phone screen until he finally found out what he was searching for. “Actually I wasn’t.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Victor gasped, eyes going from the knife to Sherlock’s face steadily.

“Because it’s one of the few things in life that isn’t boring. Trust me, not even you will make this boring.” Sherlock brought the tip of the knife to the boy’s throat, getting a shiver from him. “Alright now, I’ll need you to clean the desperation from your voice, please. You’ll have to talk in a very natural way so the boys know you’re okay.”

Victor’s face was pure confusion and for a moment Sherlock thought he was going to say something insolent, so just in case he thrust the knife harder on the neck. “Hey, none of this. If you don’t cooperate, Mrs. Lollys will kiss you deeply.”

“Mrs. Lollys?” Victor asked with trembling lips.

“That’s the knife that is currently pecking your throat”, Sherlock grinned. “I know, it’s a bit sentimental. But I can’t help it with my weapons. They are the most faithful things in my life. Never failed me once.” He ran the tip in circles through the pale skin. “You should see her husband. Oh, I wish you got to meet him, but by then you won’t be conscious.” Sherlock pouted and held the cellphone near Victor’s mouth. “So, let’s get to business. I need you to tell John your parents called and asked you to go there help with something, be creative. Oh, and tell him I’m going to take you there with Mary’s car.”

Mary’s pickup was parked far away from the camping – where the track ended – and the keys were inside it, hid under the carpet. No one would notice anything. And Sherlock knew the whore wouldn’t oppose them using it for a good cause. “I’ll press Call now, Victor. So you better be convincing.”

Victor panted and his mouth gaped but he didn’t say anything for a while. Sherlock knew exactly what was going on in his mind. He was probably wondering if it was even worth doing it if he was going to end up dead anyway, so Sherlock wanted to help him make up his mind. “Yes, I’m afraid to tell you there’s no hope. But… If you don’t do this, I can assure you I’ll make you watch as I cut your limbs slowly using Mrs. Lolly’s cousin, Ms. Pop. And Ms. Pop is not very sharp, you see, she’s one of those knifes made to open cans. So it’s going to take a while to cut all of your ligaments and nerves, besides the muscles and the bones that…”

“Okay, okay”, Victor cried. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down which was impossible in the moment. Sherlock gave him some minutes; he needed to do it if he wanted a convincing message from the boy. Finally Victor nodded and his green eyes were full of fear. Sherlock was used to that look, it never failed to give him pleasure.

Sherlock pressed Call and put it on speaker. It rang a couple of times before John’s beautiful voice answered it, “Hullo?”

“Hey John”, Victor said keeping his voice low to disguise his nervousness.

“Hey, Vic. What’s going on? Where are you?” John’s voice sounded bemused and Sherlock wished he could see his adorable expression.

“I… Sherlock and I went for a walk and then my parents called me. T-They argued and my mom ended up hurt somehow… So I think it’s better if I go there, you know…”

“Oh mate, that’s harsh. Of course, you should go.” John seemed truly worried, and Sherlock felt proud of his boy. “Want to go with Mary’s car? She won’t mind. The key is inside it under the carpet.”

“Oh thank you a lot, John.”

“No worries, Victor. I hope everything gets okay.”

Sherlock glared at Victor and the boy hurriedly added, “Oh Sherlock will take me there. It’s better since I-I a bit shaken about it, so…”

“S’ fine. Call me when you arrive there, okay?”

“S-sure”, Victor’s eyes filled with tears. “John…”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Yes?” John asked.

“You’re a good friend. Thank you for everything.”

“Sure, no problem. Really. You’re a good friend too.”

Sherlock pressed the knife harder on the boy’s neck, warning him.

“Bye, John.”

“Bye, Victor. Hope everything goes well for you.” John said before hanging up.

Sherlock threw the phone away and pulled Victor’s hair roughly making the boy whimper. “You talk too much, don’t you Victor? You can be really annoying most of the times. And dull. But then again, I can’t really blame you for that. It’s in human nature to be pathetic.”

“Then you’re pathetic as well, human…” Victor groaned before Sherlock stood up kicking him in the face.

“Do I seem human to you?” Sherlock snarled, offended.

Sherlock knew he would always be haunted for being born human in this sad little planet. But every time he killed he felt more than that. He felt like a _god_. He could take lives as he pleased, the way he pleased, when he pleased and where he pleased. If that wasn’t enough for making Sherlock feel omnipotent, he also was a genius and a sociopath. He would never be an ordinary human like the others even if he weren’t a killer. Sherlock was born to be special; he was born to be _more_.

Victor spat blood and shook his head. “No. You’re a monster!” He rasped, teeth stained with red.

Sherlock tilted his head and smirked grimly. “I. Am. A. Predator.” He growled pressing his feet heavily on the small of Victor’s back making the boy hid his face on the ground while he sobbed. “But I will be nice to you, Victor. You did something good. You introduced John to me.”

“Stay away from him!” Victor hissed, lifting his head to stare ate Sherlock’s cold eyes.

“I most certainly won’t. But worry not, he won’t get hurt. Not unless he asks for it, of course.” Sherlock grinned. He would love to tie John to a bed and use a riding crop on him. _Focus_. “And John is the only reason I won’t keep you awake while I play with you. Although I’m very tempted to do so.”

Victor didn’t say anything, so Sherlock sat on the boy’s back and pressed the knife to his neck again. Putting all his weight on the boy’s spine, Sherlock leaned to grab a silver hammer from his backpack. “This is Maxwell. He has a terrible craze of hitting people.” Sherlock touched Victor’s platinum hair with the hammer’s head. “Any last words?” Sherlock was feeling exceptionally merciful today. John’s influence.

“Fuck. You.” Victor groaned.

Sherlock tsked and laid Maxwell down hard on the boy’s head. Then he hit it again. And again. And again. And again. He could hear the skull cracking, and the brain being smashed like potatoes. He kept stroking until Victor’s head was nothing but a mass of gore. Sherlock stood up and admired his work, but wasn’t entirely satisfied yet. Oh no. He had some sort of pattern, after all, and although (unfortunately) nobody wouldn’t be able to see it - since he was going to throw the body in the lake - he still felt obliged to do it. So he dropped the knife and hammer on the ground to search for his favorite weapon: Mr. Lollys. A gardening scissor.

While holding it with one hand, Sherlock turned Victor’s body on his back and used the scissor to cut all of the boy’s clothes. He threw them away when he was done before straddling Victor’s hips. Sherlock opened the scissor on the corpse’s stomach, pressing one shear inside the navel. _Here we go_. He thrust it harder and started to cut. It was always difficult on the beginning with all the skin and fat in the region, but Mr. Lollys was sharp and Victor was skinny so the flesh broke at the third move. Sherlock grinned and kept doing his work. The scissor had done it so many times that it probably knew the way alone. First stomach, then ribs, then lungs, then heart. He grabbed this last on his hand and squeezed hard. There were no words to express the power he felt watching as the strong and healthy heart turned into red clay leaking through his fingers.

Sherlock threw it inside the body again, and started to gather some rocks and stones, putting them into a bag he had brought just for it. After he was done cleaning his weapons and removing evidences from the scene, he grabbed a rope from the backpack and knotted it around Victor’s feet. It would be a long walk to the lake, but it would be so worth it. The weight of his prey’s carcass was glorious.


	6. In the crowds of all the people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people!
> 
> First of all, thank you for the support! It means the world to me, it really does!
> 
> Second, I'm sorry it took so long for me to post it. Uni started again and I already had some work to do. I'll try to update it every week, though. Don't want to leave you waiting too much.
> 
> Well, this chapter is still not beta'd or britpicked, so excuse my mistakes, please!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it (:

 

Although Sherlock reveled in the feeling of the blood on his skin, he knew he needed to wash it off. So after disposing the body on the lake he bathed quickly. When he was cleaned, dressed and with his backpack on his shoulder he walked towards the camping again, making sure to go in a way that it would appear as if he was coming from the track where the pickup truck was parked. Sherlock was feeling very light, even a little dizzy. He always felt this way after killing. That used to be the only time he felt something slightly human until John came into his life. Now he had always that thrilling sensation in his guts. And just the thought of meeting John in some minutes was enough to make him half hard. With a surprisingly honest smile on his face he kept walking until some voices called his attention. They were coming from his left and were muffled by the forest sounds. Sherlock thought it was probably some of the kids talking, nothing important, but then he recognized John’s voice. It was very low and far, but it was undoubtedly his. Sherlock couldn’t help but head towards the conversation. The voices were getting clear and the killer noticed it wasn’t Mary his blonde was talking to. It was Jim.

“Johnny…”

“No, Jim. Stop it. You need to stop it, okay?” John sounded annoyed, but mostly apprehensive.

Sherlock hid behind a thick tree and crouched on the floor, he turned his head to peek at the scene and what he saw almost made him choke. He had to clench his hands in fists and anchor his feet heavily on the ground to not jump on Moriarty and kill him right there. John was pressed between a tree and Jim’s body. The dark haired boy was skinnier than the blonde but the few centimeters of difference between them were in Moriarty’s favor. Plus, Moriarty had that imposing posture on him that could easily intimidate taller men than him. Although he wasn’t trying to do that to John now.

“You don’t want me to stop, Johnny. Admit it.” Jim said pressing himself harder against John.

“I… Jim! I’m with Mary now”, John said and his tone was filled with uncertainties.

“Just for convenience.” Jim whispered next to John’s ear, making Sherlock lean his head closer to hear.

“No, I like her. I really do”, John answered. He didn’t seem too uncomfortable about their proximity.

“Yes, you _like_ her. And that’s not enough, don’t you think Johnny?” Moriarty ran a hand through John’s forearms, caressing them. “You and I have a connection, you know that. We’ve been through a lot, and nobody understands me like you do. And nobody will ever understand you like I do. So why don’t you just admit it?”

John hesitated for a moment, looking down before turning his eyes to the other boy. “You’re right, Jimmy. But I can’t do this, not here…”

Sherlock noticed Moriarty’s shoulders relaxing after the admission but he kept pressing John to the tree. “Let’s get the hell out of this town, Johnny. We’re meant for greater things.”

“Why are you doing this now? Why here?”

“I tried talking to you so many times, Johnny, but you keep pushing me away. When I go to your home, you’re out; when I go to your work, you’re having lunch; when I call, you’re busy. This is the closest I got to you in months.” Jim nuzzled John’s hair, and Sherlock’s stomach did a twisted flip. “I thought I should just enjoy the opportunity.”

“Jim…” John reached out one of his hands to touch Moriarty’s face. “I’m sorry to avoid you. I don’t want to lose you, but… It’s too much to handle. All that happened. You know.”

“Don’t you think we’ll handle it better together? Come on, Johnny. Leave everything behind and go away with me.”

“I can’t do this to my mom and my sister. And Mary…” John looked down.

“Your mother and sister are alright now, they’re safe and they don’t need you. Mary will get over it, she’s a smart girl, and she also doesn’t need you.” Moriarty cupped John’s cheek with his left hand. “ _I_ need you.”

John stared at the other boy with those beautiful dark blue eyes that held an intensity Sherlock wished it was directed at him and no one else. There was a silence for some seconds before they leaned to each other, meeting each other’s lips. Sherlock stood up and was ready to interrupt the kiss when a voice echoed through the woods.

“John?!”

The boys jumped at the scream. “It’s Mary, she must be looking for me. I better go, Jim. We… We will work out, alright?”

Moriarty sighed and pressed their foreheads together. “Promise, Johnny?”

“Yeah, promise”, John said before squeezing Jim’s arm and walking away towards the camping.

Moriarty just stood there looking at the night sky. Sherlock couldn’t see his expression from his angle. When the genius killer was ready to continue his way to the camping, something made him stop on his tracks.

“It happened six months ago”, Moriarty spoke to apparently no one. Sherlock looked around for someone else; maybe Moran had just arrived at the place or… “I’m talking to you, Holmes.”

Sherlock felt his body freeze, but just for a few seconds. He pulled on his best smug face and walked in sight. Moriarty turned to glare at Sherlock from head to toe, a wide grin on his face. Sherlock wanted so much to just pick one of his weapons – anyone – and rip off Jim’s eyes, but not completely, he would let them hanging by the optical nerves, with the globes wetting his cheeks; after that he would remove every one of his fingernails with a piece of twig.

“How long do you know I’m here?” Sherlock calmly asked, forcing his mind to come back to the present.

“For a predator you’re not very discreet”, Moriarty said raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock snorted. “Only to other predators. The preys never realize until it’s too late”, he grinned back.

“True that. I bet poor Victor never saw you coming, did he?” Jim said in an amused tone.

“Who was it? John’s father? Stepfather?” He snapped back, ignoring the question.

“Father. He was a fucking bastard, used to beat up Johnny.” Jim’s brows furrowed at the memory.

“I hope you made it slow and painful”, Sherlock said, voice angry. He didn’t even know the man, but he already hated him more than anyone else. He wished he could have killed him himself; make him pay for all the hurt he caused his John.

“I made sure Seb skinned him while he was still alive. Then I commanded him to hang the man by his feet on a butcher’s hook.” Jim closed his eyes and exhaled proudly.

Sherlock tilted his head, “So you don’t kill with your own hands?”

Jim faked a shiver. “Ugh, why would I? It’s messy!”

Sherlock crossed his arms. “How could you allow John to find out?”

“He showed up when he wasn’t supposed to, I was reckless.” Jim shrugged. “But Johnny was more understandable that I thought he would be. He is truly beautiful.” At the last sentence Moriarty’s tone was oddly sentimental.

Sherlock needed to admit that it was rather interesting to meet someone like him. In any other occasion Sherlock would probably be curious enough to let Jim live. But he couldn’t do that now, not when keeping the other criminal alive meant decreasing his chances of getting John to himself. Although, something like hope blossomed inside his heart – a heart he didn’t even know he had before John. If John accepted Moriarty even after knowing his true nature, he could also accept Sherlock. It wouldn’t be easy, but it surely could be easier than he thought.

“You won’t have him, Holmes”, Jim said lowly, glaring coldly at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just smirked and turned his back at Jim, walking away.

“Try anything – anything at all – and they’ll know. By ‘they’ I mean the police.” Jim threated.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder. “If they know about me, they will know about you. I can assure you that.”

Jim shrugged. “Know what? I haven’t done anything. Sebby will confess without even mentioning my name. He’s that loyal.”

Sherlock tried not to look taken aback by the truth in those words. John wouldn’t snitch Moriarty either, and Sherlock wasn’t even in town when it happened. The other killer was possibly as smart as Sherlock, although he would never say that out loud. “You would never have the chance, Moriarty.”

Jim sighed.  “I could do this now if I wanted to. But you’re lucky I find you funny to play with!” His tone was high pitched at the last words.

Sherlock just turned around and headed away.

\--

When Sherlock arrived at the camping site everybody – including Moriarty – was sitting around a bonfire eating and drinking happily. Molly was the first one to spot him; she raised a hand and waved. “Hey Sherlock! Come warm up and eat something.”

Sherlock forced a smile and sat – much to his disappointment – between Molly and Mike. When the brown haired girl handed him a glass of drink he nodded a thanks. While he sipped the drink his eyes quickly analyzed around. Moriarty was eating a piece of meat, looking as if nothing had happened earlier; Moran was drinking a bottle of beer, eyes as blank as usual; Mary and John were holding hands but there was something off hovering above them.

“How’s Victor? Is everything better there?” Molly asked.

Sherlock feigned a concerned frown. “Not really. His father made a mess out of the place and took off. We stayed with his mother for a while, she was very unsettled. Then Victor decided to take their car and go after Mr. Trevor, he said he needed to do that alone, so I came back. I asked him to call in case something happens.”

John shook his head. “I’ve witnessed one of their parents’ fights once when I went to their place for dinner. It was almost violent.”

“I’ve seen them throwing things at each other once. I don’t know why they are still together.” Mike said, biting his garlic bread.

“It’s more complicated than that. He has a temper, she’s afraid he might do something…” Molly spoke quietly.

“It’s true!” Jim said, and there was no sadness in his tone. “Some people are very dark inside. We can never completely trust anyone.”

The conversation changed course after some other comments and the young people talked about movies, books and some mutual stories that didn’t interest Sherlock at all. The only time he forced his mind to pay attention was when John spoke, and even then he had no idea what the boy was talking about. Why was he supposed to know who Daniel Craig was?

After a couple of hours, they all decided to sleep. Molly and Mary headed to their tent, and even after they zipped it shut, the boys could still hear their muffled cheerful talking. Mike was the first one of the boys to withdraw to the second tent – the one Sherlock would sleep, unfortunately. John, Jim and Moran drank a bit more until the bonfire grew dim, after that they said proper good nights and got inside their tent. Sherlock stayed up for a little while. He never slept much, and his transport was particularly stubborn after his killing days. He needed to appear normal, though, so after some minutes he entered the tent and lay down on the fluffy floor, pulling some duvets over his head. Lucky for him, Mike snored.

At the apex of dawn, when everything was completely quiet – except for Mike’s snoring – Sherlock heard something coming from the other tent, and at first he thought one of the boys was going to piss, but then he listened to the zipper of his own tent being opened through the small gap he left when he entered it. He pretended to be asleep in case it was Moriarty trying to importunate him, but then he smelled it. John’s scent. It was like a mixture of honey, cinnamon and tea. Uniquely John. He opened his eyes and felt a warm body rest very close to his.

It was going to be a very interesting night apparently.


	7. What I'm supposed to say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people!
> 
> I'm so so sorry it took me so long to update it! Life can really get in the way, and I'd rather write fics than read History texts but hey, I need the grades haha I promise you all that it won't take that long again, okay? I really hate to make you all wait :(
> 
> Thanks for all the comments/kudos/bookmarks! *bear hugs them all*
> 
> Another thing, the sweet Luthien_oo translated this story to Polish, so if you guys want to check it out it's here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2216070/chapters/4859010  
> Thank you, Luthien! (:
> 
> As usual, this chapter is not beta'd or britpicked so please forgive my mistakes!  
> Hope you enjoy it (:

 

Sherlock was frozen, his eyes wide shut. For the outside world he would seem completely asleep, when in reality he couldn’t be more awaken. John’s warmth was toxic. Sherlock’s usually cold body was oddly hot and he knew the only reason was the beautiful tanned body lying down beside him. John wasn’t sleeping either, but opposite to Sherlock, John couldn’t pretend well, in fact he almost seemed to be fidgeting on purpose. Sherlock could feel the boy moving from side to side, sighing and quietly humming. Sometimes his elbow nudged Sherlock’s back slightly and the touch was enough to speed his already fast heart beats. Then suddenly John stopped all movements. There was an odd silence planted on the tent and Sherlock was about to turn around to check if the boy was really asleep when he heard the beautiful voice.

“Sherlock? Are you awake?”

Sherlock considered his options. He could pretend he was sleeping so John could fall asleep himself, and then Sherlock would be able to spend the entire dawn just staring at John’s expressive and relaxed face, cataloguing all the pores and hairs, every failure that made John perfect. On the other hand, if he answered the boy then maybe they could have a very interesting conversation or perhaps more. No, not more. For social standards that would be considered way too soon. But just the thought of listening to John’s voice referring to him again…

“Yes”, he found himself answering.

“I’m sorry I’m crowding the tent, I just couldn’t sleep there.” John said, voice almost a purr.

_As if the tent is the only thing you’re crowding, John._ “Why? The boys snore like Stamford here?”

John chuckled lightly, and Sherlock had to gather all the strength in his body to restrain the urge to just turn around and press the boy to the tent’s floor, fucking him to death. No, not to death. He couldn’t picture himself hurting John, which was one of the weirdest things he had ever felt. Sherlock couldn’t remember a single person that he didn’t want to hurt. Not even his mother. For so many times he imagine himself walking to her room at night and smothering her with the pillow until her hand fell down beside her lifeless body. He never did it, though. She died before he could have his way with her.

“No”, John answered quietly, his tone still amused. “It’s… Well, Sebastian is really big and Jim likes to spread all over the place when he sleeps so I was uncomfortably pressed against the cold plastic of the tent.”

It was clear as the lake that now held Victor’s corpse that John was lying. And Sherlock knew quite well why. Moriarty was probably trying to touch John, harassing him to give in. Sherlock wished he could just get it over with it and kill the bastard, but he needed to be careful and patient - this last was extremely hard to be. He felt John shifting behind him, his foot touching Sherlock’s calves apparently by accident. When it seemed like Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything, John spoke again.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.” Sherlock answered quickly.

John didn’t move his foot. “Do you usually have insomnia?”

“Yes, my mind can’t stop working”, he said honestly.

“I got it. I’m always thinking about my problems, I try not to but they always come back to haunt me.” John’s voice acquired a sad tone that made Sherlock’s gut twist. John shouldn’t feel sad. Not at all.

“School?” Sherlock asked, knowing way too well that that wasn’t the problem.

“I wish”, John huffed.

Sherlock bit his lip and rubbed his eyes, he wanted so much to just touch John. The blonde boy deserved to be cherished and taken care of. His family never gave it to him, all drowned into their own troubles; Moriarty could love John, but his feelings were dark and dangerous; Mary was ordinary and she couldn’t give John what he needed. Sherlock was the only one good enough for him. Sherlock would do anything to give John all he wanted. _Anything_.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I turn around?” Sherlock asked truly reluctant.

“Why would I?” John said bemused.

Sherlock smirked to himself and slowly moved his body so he could be face to face with one gorgeous John Watson. It was like staring at the sun. John’s big blue eyes were entirely focused on Sherlock and Sherlock only. He never cared about poetry, but he could think of a thousand of sonnets describing John’s beautiful face. The way his nose was slightly up at the end; the way his dimple on the chin looked when he smiled; his lips when he talked; his eyebrows when he furrowed them; his eyes… Sherlock could almost swim in them.

They were quiet for a moment, just staring at each other. Sherlock decided to speak first, otherwise he would have done something regrettable way too soon. “Any plans for tomorrow? What do you guys usually do when you come here?”

“Not much, to be honest. It’s been awhile, but we basically swim on the lake, climb some rocks around, tell horror stories at night… Oh, and eat a lot”, John chuckled. “We’re just a bunch of silly people.”

“They may be, but you’re not”, Sherlock said maybe too bluntly.

John hesitated for a moment, “Eh, thanks. It means a lot coming from an outsider.”

“I thought I was more than an outsider already… I mean, I’m only in town for a couple of days, but—“

“Sure, sure. I don’t know you well yet, but I hope to do so, Sherlock. You truly seem like an interesting person, what is actually asking a lot around here”, John sadly giggled.

When Sherlock was about to answer, Mike shifted his position and made a nasal noise. Both boys looked at him waiting for the boy to wake up but he only started to snore harder and louder.

“I think it’s better if we try to sleep, otherwise Mike will wake up and he is a bitch when that happens.” John explained running one of his hands through his hair. Sherlock wished he could do the same to feel the soft blonde locks on his fingertips.

“Alright. Good night, John.” Sherlock said reluctantly.

“Good night, Sherlock. Thank you.” John said already sleepy.

“For what?”

“For talking to me.”

“My pleasure.” _Sleep well, my John._

\--

Sherlock had no idea for how long he was walking around the woods, but his feet hurt and his hands had scratches from reaching out and pulling aside branches and twigs. He could feel sweat dripping all over his face and his dark curls sticking to his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so _wrecked_. Even his spine hurt and it had never happened in his life. He stopped by a tree to lean against it just to take a breath. Where were the others? They were right in front of him and the next minute they were gone. He should’ve noticed there was something wrong.

“John?” Sherlock called, but his voice only echoed through the place. “John?! Molly? Mike? Anyone there?” No one answered.

He then decided to move on. It was only after five more minutes of wandering about all wrenched up he heard voices that were getting louder by the second. He headed towards them, relieved to finally find someone. Which part of him told it was ridiculous, since he knew he was better on his own.

“Oh my god! Is he dead?!” Mike’s voice exclaimed.

“No, no, no, that can’t be it! Oh no please god, no!” Mary screamed, and Sherlock could hear her weeping.

Suddenly he got really worried. There was only one person that could get this reaction out of the blonde girl. _John_. Sherlock didn’t know how he did it but his body found a way to ran as fast as he could to the scene despite all of his pains. He could already see some heads behind branches. Mary, Mike, Sebastian, Moriarty… No John.

“I’ll BURN him, I’ll SKIN him alive for it. Mark my words! I’ll do it with my bare hands! I will!” The Irish voice shouted as Sherlock’s world tumbled down.

_John! Please don’t be hurt, don’t die, don’t don’t don’t…_

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock realized they were all looking at him. His arm leaned against a trunk and his chest panting heavily. Molly stood right before him with a calm expression on her face. She pointed her finger at his blouse. “What’s that on you? Is it blood?”

The killer looked down and found himself soaked in blood. His entire shirt was stained, just like his trousers and shoes. He took a look at his hands and couldn’t help a gasp when he saw a great quantity of the red liquid spread all over his forearms, palms and knuckles. _No no no no no._

“YOU killed him!” Mary shouted at Sherlock, eyes red with tears.

Sherlock dared to look to the floor and his knees failed him when he saw John’s lifeless figure lying down on Mary’s lap. His stomach was cut, his guts stood out of him and his temple had a roughly made incision. He didn’t do it, it couldn’t have been him. He would never hurt John. Never. He would _die_ for John, not kill him. His eyes turned around at all the accusatory faces and then stopped at Molly. She still looked quite calm and Sherlock could notice a ghost of amusement on her usually gentle face. It didn’t make sense and that was disturbing.

“You would have done it one day, anyway. But you’d hated it. So…” She said, her brown eyes shone at that, “I did it for you.” Molly almost whispered the last word, and she winked. She really winked!

Sherlock raised his hands to strangle her or do whatever he could with what he got to cause her a slow and painful dead, but then he heard his love’s voice coming from far away. “Sherlock? Sherlock? It’s okay! Sherlock? Wake up!”

\--

His eyes opened as wide as possible, his mouth gaped trying to catch as much air as he could. He still felt sweat all over him and a pain somewhere, but now he had John’s beautiful ocean eyes staring right through him. Sherlock realized he was on the blonde’s lap, being comforted by a soothing hand on his damp curls. _John’s hand. John’s eyes. John._

“It’s okay, Sherlock. You were having a nightmare. But it’s over now, right? Here, drink this.” John gave him a bottle of water and Sherlock drank almost everything in one sip. John’s hand didn’t stop the movement on his hair. “Are you feeling better?”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the reality that John was alive and there with him, with his strong but gentle hand on his curls. “Fine, sorry about that. Thanks.” He said awkwardly. Sherlock really wasn’t used to say such things, but he did mean it, and not only for what John might have thought. “What time is it?”

“Something past six. You should try to sleep some more. Oh, Mike went to take a piss after your screams woke him up”, John’s tone was lighter at the last comment.

“What did I scream?” Sherlock asked, although he knew what the answer would be.

“My name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I scare you for a moment or you didn't fall for it at all? lol


	8. Like the one that just past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Thank you all for supporting this fic. It's fantastic to be getting all this feedback from you, please keep doing it! It makes me more than happy. <3
> 
> Chapter not beta'd or britpicked so pleaaase forgive my mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it ;*

 

Sherlock slept peacefully with John’s hand soothing his hair. It was the best sleep he had ever had, all thanks to John. When he woke up there was no one in the tent and the sun shone bright through the thin material. Sherlock stretched, rubbed his hair with both hands and got out to the open air. Mary and John were sat together on the floor, hands entwined; Molly was cutting an apple with a small knife; Jim, Mike and Sebastian were nowhere to be seen.

“Hey Sherlock! Alright?” John asked smiling at him.

Sherlock would have melted at the smile if the blonde wasn’t tracing patterns on Mary’s shoulder with his fingertips. _Easy, Sherlock, he’ll be doing this to you soon enough._ “Yes, thanks. Sorry for waking you up…”

“Oh no worries, nightmare happens. I should know, right baby?” John looked at Mary.

“Oh yes, my poor John always calls me in the middle of the night so I can calm him down.” Mary said fondly pecking John on the lips and smirking at him.

 _Your John? Oh you wish, girl._ Sherlock took a deep breath and walked towards the basket they settled on a picnic blanket in the middle of the meadow. Molly was there, cross legged seated eating the apple she sliced. Sherlock’s mind went instinctively to the terrible nightmare he had. The way Molly grinned at him _disturbed_ him, and he surely wasn’t one for being disturbed easily. _“I did it for you.”_ The girl’s voice resonated through his head and he had to flex his fingers not to clench his fists.

“Hi Sherlock!” Molly smiled at him, and Sherlock got shivers down his spine remembering the way she looked at him in the dream. “Eat something”, she said softly.

Sherlock knew from the beginning he would eventually kill Molly, but he never gave much thought to it. She never seemed important enough to his _special_ killing room. But now, after the nightmare… His plans changed. Sherlock’s eyes dropped to the blunt knife blade she was using some moments ago. He knew exactly what to do. Without saying a word he picked a peach from the basket and took a small bite. He didn’t like fruits, or food for that matter.

“Where are the other boys?” He asked Molly, keeping his voice even. He didn’t really mind about Moran and Stamford, but he needed to keep an eye on Moriarty.

“Oh they went for a swim on the lake. At least that’s what the note said, I haven’t seen them today yet.”

Sherlock felt like frowning, but he kept his expression impassive. “I might go there myself. Want to come?”

Molly opened her mouth to answer but before she could there were loud and hurriedly footsteps noises coming from the woods, and in a few moments Sebastian Moran arrived all sweaty and red, hands on his hips, back arched and knees failing him. His hair was a mess of leafs, earth and small pieces of twigs; he also had some scratches on his forearms and an ugly cut on his cheek. For the ordinary observer, he was truly wounded and possibly passed through some bad trauma, but Sherlock knew better.

“Seb!” John exclaimed, standing up and running towards the ginger boy. “What happened? Oh god, are you okay?”

Molly grabbed a bottle of water and walked fast to give it to him. Moran drank it fast and coughed a bit, breathing deeply before turning his head to John. “Som—Something assaulted us! We… We started to run and I-I lost Jim and Mike from my sight”, he panted. John put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. Sherlock clenched his teeth.

“What do you mean? Like an animal?” Mary asked.

Sebastian shook his fluttered head. “I don’t know… We heard something getting closer, like fast footsteps… We thought it was one of you, but then we saw a dark shadow behind us and something like… Like a growl. Then we started running, and… I ran and ran until I looked back and the boys weren’t there…”

Sherlock was thankful all the other people in the place had their attention on Moran, otherwise they would have seen his eyes rolling at the obviously fake testimony. It took Sherlock less than two minutes to figure everything out. It wouldn’t do anything for him to tell them the truth, though – and Moriarty knew that – so he would just enjoy the game until he got bored. But although Sherlock understood what had happened, he couldn’t get what Moriarty actually wanted with it. Play with Sherlock? But why use Mike?

“A growl? Like a greyhound or something?” John asked, his brows furrowing adorably.

“Yes, but the thing was too big to be a hound…” Moran answered, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose to give a dramatic pause. “Do you think it killed them?”

“Did you hear any screams?” Mary asked, her voice was more suspicious than worried and Sherlock thought that was curious but left the thought alone for the moment.

“I can’t really remember… I was so focused on just getting here that I blocked everything around me.” Moran explained, pulling his sorriest tone. Sherlock was surprised with how good of an actor Sebastian was. Even he couldn’t have imagined that a quiet boy like the ginger would turn out to be such an award worthy performer. He must have infinity faith in Moriarty. _I wonder if he knows Moriarty wouldn’t think twice before trading him for John._

“You can’t remember something about _Jim?_ That’s a first”, Mary said with a slightly cynical tone. “How did you get the wounds?”

Nobody seemed to notice her first comment. Moran didn’t look at her when he answered. “I stumbled in some roots and fell down a couple of times…”

Mary made a quiet noise. John and Molly were hovering over Sebastian, all worried eyes and reassuring touches. Sherlock wanted to grab John and shake him out of this blur. John didn’t deserve to be fooled like this, especially by Moriarty. But he couldn’t say anything, not now. Since the shit already happened, Sherlock needed to enjoy the opportunity.

“We should look for them”, Sherlock spoke for the first time after the ginger’s arrival.

“True. We should go all together, though. Just in case this thing is still out there.” Molly said, clasping her hands.

“That would decrease our chances of finding them. We can go in pairs.” Sherlock’s tone was firmer.

“I agree. John, baby, you come with me, Molly go with Sherlock…”

“No, no. Please, don’t leave me here alone”, Moran cut Mary off with an exasperated tone. Sherlock almost laughed at the scene. Moran probably hated the begging act, he must have been cursing himself inside.

“It’s okay, Seb. I’ll stay here with you.” John said, hand still in the taller boy’s shoulder.

“I won’t let you stay here alone, John”, Mary crossed her arms. Sherlock thanked her for a moment; he also thought something did not smell right about Moran wanting someone to stay here with him. No, not someone. John. He clearly wanted _his_ John to stay.

“Don’t worry. We’ll stay quiet in the tent, I’ll sharp some stakes”, John teased but Mary didn’t smile back. “Look, baby, I can’t let Sebastian here alone, and I know you want to go. So go. We’ll be okay.”

Mary bit her bottom lip and ran her hand through her short blonde hair. Sighing she said, “Alright. Sherlock, go with Molly. I can go by myself. I’m not afraid of bigfoot.”

\--

Molly walked beside him in silence for some minutes, although Sherlock could almost touch her conflicted thoughts during the way. She was so pathetic, like a little disgusting mouse. Sherlock knew that all of his dreams and nightmares were never illogical. They usually were an analogy of his feelings, and he always woke up upset about them because they sometimes showed him things he had stopped himself of thinking about; that’s one of the reasons he hated sleeping. So, the part of the last nightmare involving Molly had some tinge of reality.

“Sherlock, do you mind if I hold your arm?” Molly finally took the guts to ask.

“Of course not, Molly.” Sherlock said in his most gentle tone.

Sherlock would even be grateful to Jim for the fantastic opportunity if he was sure what the other genius wanted with it all. Molly took his arm and it felt wrong. It should be John grabbing him, and he felt like throwing the girl away in the second their skins touches, but he would have time to have fun later.

“Is your knife safe in your pocket?” Sherlock asked, feigning concern.

“Yes, just like you asked. Although I’m not sure this little knife would be much help”, she said a tad too excited about being tangled with Sherlock. “What do you think it is?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Probably a wild hound or a hybrid. Moran was exaggerating. Not on purpose, though, people who go through some traumatic experiences tend to change the facts about the situation to cope with it.”

Molly just looked at him for a moment. “You’re so smart. I’m so happy I met you, Sherlock.”

The killer echoed these sentences in his mind but with John’s voice speaking them instead of the little mouse’s. “Thank you, Molly. You’re a good girl.”

She blushed and giggled, “I try to.”

“Oh but you are. You’d do anything for the people you love, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock kept his tone as light as possible.

She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, of course. Wouldn’t you?”

“Definitely”, he said and for the most part of his life that would be a lie because he had never loved anyone, but after John he knew it was the ultimate truth. “I’d kill for their wellbeing.”

Molly clutched to his arm tighter. “I… Yes, I guess me too.”

“Oh I know that. You’re much braver than you think, aren’t you Molly?” Sherlock said and then he abruptly stopped walking. “Did you hear that?”

Molly looked around and then at him again. “What? No, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Give me your knife, Molly. Please?” Sherlock asked reaching his hand.

“Okay”, she put her hand in her jeans pocket. “What will you do?”

“Solve our problem”, Sherlock said without keeping the grin out of his voice.

Molly stopped her hand half way, holding the knife. She looked at Sherlock for a moment and that was when the genius realized he had underestimated her intelligence and perception, although he wasn’t sure if it was his tone or the way he was looking at her. Molly frowned and her mouth turned into a pout, she backed her hand away from his reach.

“What’s the matter, Molly?”

“What do you really want, Sherlock?” She asked with a trembled voice.

 _Oh the fear._ Even if she found out before the right time the fear was always good to hear. “What do you mean, Molly? Give me the knife, please.”

“There’s something in your eyes… It’s not right.” She said stepping back. “What do you want?”

“Why do you keep asking this, Molly? I want to take this knife so I can protect us from this animal or whatever it is around”, Sherlock said in a bored tone.

“You know pretty well the knife won’t harm the thing! I cannot give it to you, Sherlock. Somehow I just know.” Molly sounded determined.

“’Somehow I just know’, well you’re wrong, Molly. If you don’t give me the knife right now I’ll get it from you.” Sherlock turned his coat collar up and stepped forward.

Molly opened her mouth to say something but suddenly she looked at a point behind Sherlock with a surprised expression. Instinctively the killer turned his head to check what she was seeing, and was greeted with absolutely nothing. When he turned back to stare at her again the only thing he saw was her back covered by her pink coat running as fast as she could away from Sherlock. _Fuck! I can’t believe I was fooled by a little mouse._ Sherlock almost screamed with anger but instead he bolted after her with almost supernatural speed. He couldn’t let her get to the meadow. If she did, all would be lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you miss Jim? I know I do!  
> But worry not! He'll be showing up as naughty as usual soon. :D


	9. Not too sure how it feels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people!
> 
> I'll never thank you all enough for the kudos/comments/bookmarks! Each one of them makes me wanna write more and more, so thanks again!
> 
> Remember this chapter is not beta'd or britpicked, so please excuse my mistakes!
> 
> Ready for a bit of gore? :D  
> Hope you enjoy it :*

 

Sherlock didn’t stop running, not even when his legs threatened to crumble down. He was relieved Molly wasn’t screaming, but he couldn’t spare too many thoughts about it now. Sherlock was very good with tracks and direction, so he was sure if he kept running he would get to the meadow, but he didn’t know if Molly had any idea where she was going; she could have gotten lost by now as far as he was concerned. Never mind that, he needed to check the meadow just in case. Part of him was also worried about John being alone there with Moran. So he kept running.

“Jim! Jim, I’m so happy you’re here!” He heard Molly’s panted voice exclaiming from the meadow, as he approached the place.

Sherlock’s heart started to beat even faster. Everything he planned for John and him, all his work, it would all go downhill. He could not let that happen. He _would not_ let that happen. He didn’t care if he’d had to kill every single one of them at the same time without follow his patterns, he would do it if it meant his secrets safe and John his. When he was some threes away from arriving at the spot he heard Molly again, she seemed more recomposed.

“Sherlock is crazy! He… There’s something evil about him, Jim!” Molly explained, voice high pitched.

There were a few seconds of silence before Jim answered. “What do you mean ‘crazy’, Molly sweetie?” He didn’t sound worried at all.

“I mean… I’m not sure, but… I think he’s dangerous, Jim! He’s after me! Crazy I’m telling you!” Molly’s tone was exasperated.

Sherlock finally arrived at the meadow. Molly had her back at him but Moriarty looked quickly at him the moment he appeared at sight. Sherlock stared right back and what he found out in the dark eyes eyes wasn’t entirely unsurprised. Jim was seated on the blanket in front of Molly with… _John_. A very asleep John lying down on his lap. Mike was also unconscious, hands and feet tied with a thick rope just a few meters from them. Moran and Mary were nowhere to be seen. Moriarty idly ran his fingers through John’s soft blonde hair and Sherlock’s guts twisted. He wanted to rip out the Irish’s arm with his bare teeth.

“It’s not nice to call people crazy, Molly.” Jim said, turning his eyes back to Molly, who was still oblivious to Sherlock walking like a hungry cheetah behind her back.

Molly’s head tilted to the side and Sherlock knew her brows were probably frowning. “You didn’t see him, Jim! The way he looked at me… He’s different, he’s…”

Jim faked a shocked expression. “Just because he’s different you’re calling him crazy? Well, I’m different. Guess I’m crazy too!”

“Jim! You’re not understanding…” Molly stopped and pointed at Mike who squirmed sleepily. “Are you sure he needs to be tied like that? He seems calmer, you should release him…”

“He was hurting himself, Molly! That was the only way we found to keep him steady and safe.” Jim answered sheepishly.

Sherlock was only a few centimeters away from Molly now; he could smell her vanilla shampoo. Molly scratched her neck, “But I think he’s alright now. Did you see what attacked you guys?”

“Oh yes”, Jim nodded, eyes going wide.

“So?” Molly gestured for Moriarty to continue talking. And that was when Sherlock grabbed her.

He hooked one hand tightly on her neck and the other holding both of her wrists roughly behind her back which was pressed against his front. Molly’s entire body was quivering and after a few useless attempts to get free she finally stopped moving, although her chest was panting heavily with anxiety and fear. Sherlock brought his mouth to the girl’s ear and snarled, “I thought little mice knew where to hide.”

“Jim! Help me!” Molly screamed. “Please!”

Jim started to whistle an old Irish song, dropping his head to look at John’s sleeping form while his fingers caressed the blonde’s scalp. Sherlock shook away all his thoughts about mutilating Jim piece by piece with a plastic spoon in order to focus on the skinny trembling body in his power. “Be quiet or I will make you watch Mike die first. And then I’ll kill you”, Sherlock growled quietly on her ear.

“Mary! John, wake up! Jim, Jim, why are you doing this?!” Molly tried to kick at Sherlock. The killer thought that was enough.

He threw the girl harshly on the ground. She whined in pain but tried to crawl away anyway, only to be grabbed by her ankles. Sherlock pulled her with both hands until her wriggling body was upside down. He put her feet on his shoulder and dragged her through the grass. Molly tried to nail the floor to stop the motion, she cried out to no one while her legs forced themselves out of Sherlock’s grasp. When he finally got closer to Jim - who was still in the same annoying position - the shorter dark haired boy smirked looking at Sherlock and then at Molly.

“Oh Molly girl, why are you so upset?” Moriarty pouted, feigning concern. “Look at you, all red and teary! I always told you not to stress out, didn’t I?”

“Why, Jim?” Molly’s voice now was more of a hoarse whisper than anything else. “We were friends, we grew up tog—“

Jim rolled his eyes. “Exactly!” Moriarty exclaimed in a high pitched tone, “I had enough time to deem you as not worthy of my company. Sorry, honey.”

Molly didn’t answer, instead she made a chocked noise and whimpered. Sherlock kicked her stomach hard with his knee, making the girl gasp. He looked down at Jim who gently planted a kiss to John’s cheek. The blonde didn’t do as much as hum. Sherlock was thirsty for blood, he wanted to slaughter Molly right there, but somehow it felt awkward to do it in front of John, even though the boy was deeply unconscious; it felt disrespectful, and he abhorred the feeling but couldn’t pretend not to feel it. Turning his silver eyes to meet Moriarty’s brown ones he asked lowly, “What did you give him?”

“Oh don’t worry about that. Just some orange flavored’s sedative, he won’t feel a thing when he wakes up!” Moriarty said, grinning. “I can’t say the same about Mike, though. Sebby punched him in the head, but I guess he’s almost wa-king-up!” Jim sang the last word cheerfully. “What are you going to do about it, Holmes?”

“Mike’s your problem, not mine. You should finish what you started”, Sherlock spoken as Molly’s body got heavier. The girl had passed out.

“Oh oh now you’re just being unthankful! Mike is a gift to you! A peace offer!” Jim raised his hands excitedly.

“Liar”, Sherlock hissed.

Moriarty tsked before widening his eyes. “True that!” Moriarty turned his attention at John again. “You’re not even supposed to come here, Holmes. I sedated John so Sebby could bring Mike and go to keep Morstan away from here; and of course, so I could enjoy him like this… So vulnerable and pliant.” Jim ran a thumb across John’s golden cheek.

Sherlock bared his teeth, throwing Molly on the floor; she fell down hard with a thud, body loose and still unconscious. The killer hovered over Moriarty, eyes narrowed. “Stay away from John. What do you want with him?!”

Jim sighed. “That’s none of your business, honey. You should just kill Molly and get the hell out. I’ll ask Sebby to call you later, yeah?” He smirked smugly.

Sherlock launched on Jim, grabbing him by the collar of his black jacket. He easily lifted him away from John, their faces almost touched. Sherlock spoke on his most intimidating voice. “Don’t overestimate my interest for the game, Moriarty. John will always be my priority.”

“That makes two of us,” Moriarty whispered, tone light but eyes as cold as ice.

Before Sherlock could answer, though, he felt a weird sting in his left foot. Looking down he saw a messed up Molly thrusting her pocket knife deeply in his limb. She turned her head up and stared at him; usually gentle brown eyes were replaced by raged red ones. Sherlock kicked her on the face with all the strength he got using his wounded foot. Molly rolled on the ground whining loud, both her hands on her face. Sherlock limply walked towards one of the closest threes and broke a thick branch from it. He hit it a couple of times on a rock, sharping the tip but not too much. Heading to Molly’s curled up body he grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her so she was lying on her back on the dirty grassy ground. Sherlock climbed on top of her and straddle her thighs.

Molly spat blood on his shirt. “John will never love you.” And these were her last words.

Sherlock shoved the wood stake right into her heart. Then he removed it and shoved it again. And Again. And again. And again. He didn’t stop until there wasn’t anything more to strike but a red mass with broken bones and smashed organs when once was Molly’s torso. Sherlock was panting heavily, his nostrils flaring with each breath. He had never killed like this. It was impulsive, messy and… Vengeful? Molly’s last words still echoed in his mind and he was on the verge of thrusting the bloody wood into her again when Jim touched his shoulder.

“Easy now, Holmes. I heard some noises, you better go clean yourself before they arrive. You look filthy, dearie.”

Sherlock touched his own cheek and only then he realized he was soaked with the girl’s blood. Instinctively he looked at John who was starting to show signs of waking up. For the first time in his life he felt _shame_. Standing up he ran as fast as he could away from the meadow, ignoring the stinging pain in his foot. He knew Moriarty would find a way to dispose Molly’s body so he didn’t worry about leaving it behind. What he worried, though, was if John had listened or seen anything.

When Sherlock arrived at the lake, he scrubbed his skin roughly, leaving red marks and bruises on his arms and face. He didn’t only want to wash the blood away, he mostly wanted to wash all of his _filth_ away. Although he knew was impossible, for it was stuck to his core, to his bones, to his own being.


	10. Got a big shot deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people!
> 
> How are you doing? :D Thank you all for the comments/kudos/bookmarks, you're awesome all the way! <3
> 
> Please excuse my mistakes, this chapter is - as usual - not beta'd or britpicke'd (:
> 
> Hope you enjoy! ;*

 

“We need to get the hell out of here right fucking now!” Mary exclaimed just as Sherlock walked into the scene.

“What is going on?” He asked stopping next to the half circle they were forming.

Mike was seated on the floor with a hand on his bruised head and a confused expression; John and Mary were standing side by side - and John looked alright, no weird reactions when his eyes met Sherlock which was relieving and disappointing; Moran was seated on the floor across from Mike, rubbing on his knee; and Moriarty was pacing around the meadow, worried – extremely fake - expression on his face.

“Molly disappeared! And there was blood all over a tree near here! If we go looking for her we’ll end up dead as well, so we should just get the hell out while we can. We’re going to call the police there, yes?” Mary hissed, her face flushed.

“I will hate to leave Molly behind, but I guess this is the only way we might have a chance to help her.” Moriarty said, artistically clasping his hands with a very well performed concern. “What do you say, Johnny?”

John bit his lip – which was one of the sexiest things Sherlock had ever seen – and closed his eyes for a moment. When he finally spoke his voice was low and sad, “Alright. This seems to be the wiser thing to do. Right, Sherlock?”

Sherlock didn’t think he would ever stop having shivers all over his body every time John spoke his name. “Right. Let’s go back to the town.”

\--

Sherlock was pleased that at least he managed to sit next to John again on their way back. Maybe it was only his desperate mind but it seemed to him that John was leaning a bit closer than last time, allowing his thigh to brush Sherlock’s at times. The drive was silent; the genius could feel Mary’s sulk and John’s confusion. John couldn’t look more adorable with his brows furrowed and his lips pouted. Sherlock wanted to _devour_ him. Looking at the blonde through the corner of his eyes he finally understood the crimes of passion he despised so much. He thought there were so many other great reasons to murder someone, and spoil it because of _sentiment_ seemed incredibly stupid. But now, watching John, he knew what he was capable of doing for the boy. Part of him was mad for being able to _feel_ it, but another was secretly relieved.

“Sherlock?” He heard John’s soft voice calling.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you are okay. I mean… Great camping, right? And it was your first. I’ll totally understand if you won’t want to come back…” John said, looking down and clasping his hands. He looked almost shy. Sherlock wanted to grab his chin and force him to stare right through Sherlock’s stormy eyes with his ocean ones.

“I’m okay, don’t worry. Not everything was bad, and I’m sure we will find Molly.” Sherlock tried to soothe John.

“I’m sure we will find her. I just don’t know which parts”, Mary spoke for the first time since she started driving.

“Mary! Don’t say that, please,” John censured.

“Sorry, baby, but you didn’t see all that blood! We should’ve called the police from there.”

“My phone have no service for distant calls.” John sighed.

“Mine neither”, Sherlock continued.

“Fine, but that’s the first thing we’ll do once we get there.” Mary’s tone was commanding. This was a girl who knew her business well, Sherlock thought. There was a certain quality in Mary that he couldn’t quite name, something a lady from the countryside didn’t usually have, in Sherlock’s opinion.

“I wonder if Victor’s okay”, John said after a few minutes of silence.

“He is, just like Molly. So don’t worry, John. Okay?” Sherlock turned his head, smiling.

John nodded. “Yes, right. It’s just that I can’t help but worry.”

“You’re a care-taker, baby”, Mary said ruffling John’s blonde locks with the hand that wasn’t on the wheel.

Sherlock mentally snorted. Mary might not be the useless bitch his jealous mind thought she were when they first met, to be honest he could even say she had something interesting about her, but that didn’t matter really because she was dating _his_ John, and Sherlock didn’t share what was his. _Mary will learn that very soon,_ Sherlock thought.

“Boy, what the bloody hell is that fucker doing?” Mary muttered when a grey sedan coming from the opposite direction started zigzagging on the road. “Are they drunken or something?!”

Oddly, Sherlock couldn’t deduce much from the car; it seemed _way too_ clean and pristine for a driver so apparently reckless. Mary slowed down, eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. The other car showed no intention of stopping the idiotic movements as it got closer and closer to them. Usually Sherlock wouldn’t mind the threat; in fact the knowledge that his life was in possible danger used to give him a delicious wave of adrenaline, after all it happened so rarely since he was always the one in control. But with John right beside him so vulnerable to the risk, Sherlock hated the situation and the stupid driver. He would memorize the number of the license plate and find whoever was the responsible for putting his John’s life in danger.

Mary honked three times quickly. “Fuck, what’s wrong with them?” She cursed when they ignored her and just kept coming.

“I think it’s better if you stop the car on the side of the road, Mary”, John said, his voice a bit worried, “Just until this git passes by. Sign for Sebastian to do the same, yes?”

“You’re right, apparently I have no fucking choice”, she snarled opening the window and gesturing for Moriarty’s car to also stop behind them.

However when Mary was turning the wheel to pull up there was a deafening noise that Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was coming from the inside or the outside. Last thing he knew everything was dark.

\--

It hurt to open his eyes. And when he finally did the sight that greeted him was confusing at first since Sherlock didn’t understand why he was upside down or why there was blood and pieces of glass around him, also a disgusting smoke scent that filled his nostrils aggressively. Then his mind snapped out of the dizziness that the probable concussion caused and he realized the pickup truck was flipped. Sherlock quickly removed his belt, cursing when his wounded body hit the plafond; he didn’t mind though, he didn’t even try to see how damaged he was. There was only one thing in his mind. The one thing that mattered. _John_. His blonde boy wasn’t anywhere inside the crashed car, nor was Mary. Sherlock slowly got out of the vehicle and gasped in surprised when he took a look around.

After the crash, the car rolled down the bank and stopped in the middle of the woods that surrounded the road. Sherlock could see all the traces on the grass coming up from the road to where the car was currently wrecked. There were no signs of struggling to get out of the truck or footsteps around besides Sherlock’s. It didn’t make any sense. If John had fallen through the window during the rolling Sherlock would have seen him by now. Plus, his boy was a beautiful and good person, he would never run away leaving Sherlock behind. The genius growled in anger, clenching his fists at his sides.

There was also no clue of Moriarty and Moran’s car, which only proved his theory. Sherlock limped forward, his limbs hurting all the way but he didn’t give it a second thought. Roaming his eyes through the place, something called the killer’s attention: a large tree that stood imperiously amongst the others; although it was not the tree itself that caught Sherlock’s eyes. Walking as fast as he could with his wounded useless transport, the dark haired boy could get a clearer image of what was carved in the tree trunk.

**_Hauntings and Frogs must always go back to where they belong. xx_ **

_Moriarty!_ “That fucker!” Sherlock shouted, kicking the trunk and regretting immediately after doing it, his body loudly protested the move. Sherlock was passed out for at least two hours inside the bloody car, giving Moriarty and Moran enough time to do whatever they wanted to do with John and Mary. Looking at the carving again he considered it. _A puzzle, obviously. Hauntings and Frogs… John and Mary!_ John was Moriarty’s personal ghost, haunting his mind day and night with no rest; Sherlock understood well, the same happened to him. Mary was the animal nobody liked but is always found around the places we least want it. _Must go back to where they belong…_ Sherlock snapped his fingers. “The cemetery and the lake!”

Sherlock ran his less wounded hand through his hair and hissed in pain when he found a cut there – never mind that – he needed to decide where to go. Obviously his entire being wanted to run after John, but the part of his brain that wasn’t clouded with sentiment told him to do the opposite. _Moriarty would never hurt John. He’s probably keeping him locked in a mausoleum, most likely his family’s. Mary was probably dead by now if Moriarty threw her in the lake, but if John finds out that I went after him without checking on his girlfriend first he would never forgive me. It would also be the perfect alibi for me; my opportunity to finish Mary off if by any chance the girl is still alive._

Sherlock took a deep breath. _The frog it is then._


	11. The webs from all the spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people!
> 
> Thank you all for the support, you have no idea how it inspires and makes me happy! For real.  
> So, sorry if this chapter is mostly dialogue and not as big as the others, but I think it's essencial. Besides, next chapter will be bigger, so don't worry!
> 
> Well, as usual it's not beta'd or britpicke'd, so please do forgive me.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! :D

 

Sherlock had no idea how he would make it to the lake with his injured transport. Each step was a tragedy and Sherlock could only groan and grimace in pain. He would not give up, though, no matter how terrible the sting in his head or the distension in his leg was. There was no vehicle to take him to the lake so it would be a very long walk until there, even if Sherlock knew a shortcut – he observed it while they were going back. After a while moving forward all the trees started to look exactly the same, the floor seemed to shake and everything around Sherlock was swirling. For a second he thought it was an earthquake or something, but then as his senses failed and his legs trembled down he realized he was passing out.

\--

“So you are innocent, after all.” Sherlock heard a female voice saying from far away, or maybe not too far away; everything in his mind was dizzy and slow so he couldn’t make things out very well as he opened his eyes.

Dirt was the first blurry thing he saw. So he was still on the ground. Moving his limbs he noticed the pain was there yet but had fainted a little. His head hurt but his senses were improving. Slowly and carefully he shifted so he could sit, back against a trunk nearby. He breathed deeply as his vision came back to focus. That was when he saw the girl. Mary. She looked messy. Hair wet and sticking to her neck; clothes torn; lip split and bruises over her wrists and neck. With his mind finally working as it should, it was obvious to Sherlock that they had tried to hang her by a tree above the lake, with hopes that the branch would break allowing Mary to fall down in the water, drowning herself.

“Yes”, the blonde girl whispered, as if reading his mind. “But I’m not easy to kill.”

Sherlock didn’t answer; he wasn’t even sure he could. Mary’s expression wasn’t one of fear or despair, in fact she looked quite determined. Sherlock just watched as she walked towards him, hands clenched by her sides; the genius killer even thought she would attack him there. She didn’t, though. Instead she grabbed a leaf with some water on and helped Sherlock to drink it. After he was done, she stepped back and sat in front of him. Sherlock cleared his throat. “How did you do it?”

Mary crooked her dried lips. “I needed certain skills to survive when I was a kid. Living in a fucked up orphanage and all, you know”, she shrugged. “This is just another abuse to add to my list, Sherlock. The difference in this one is John. They got him, but I’m sure you know that already.” Mary closed her eyes for a moment, Sherlock waited for her to continue. “I knew they were up to something – Jim and Sebastian – but to be honest I thought you were involved as well. I know there’s something wrong with you, Sherlock, but I also know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt John. I guess we’re pretty much the same in this aspect, aren’t we?”

Sherlock considered for a moment. Mary took him by surprise, something extremely rare; he felt the urge to both kill and know more about her. Instead he said, “Thank you for helping me.”

Mary made a non-committal noise. “It’s okay. I learned to use some herbs that grow around here. It will help with the superficial pain, but I’m afraid your leg is still distended. I did put your arm back into place, though.” Mary ran a hand through her dirty hair. “I will kill them, Sherlock. If they touch a single hair of my John’s head, I swear I’ll murder them.”

Sherlock nodded weakly. “I will help you.” And he meant it. Of course she couldn’t know exactly what kind of plans the killer had for them.

“I know, I’m counting on it.” Mary stood up and took a fruit from a lot she had stacked nearby. She threw it to Sherlock who immediately grabbed and bit eagerly. He didn’t even realized how starving he was, so unusual for him. Mary stretched her arms above her head. “You need to get stronger, a least a little bit more. And then we’ll go. Do you have any idea where they’re going?”

Sherlock swallowed the juicy piece of fruit. “Yes. Moriarty left me a puzzle saying you were at the lake and John at a cemetery.”

Mary frowned. “Why would he leave you a clue? What’s in for him if you find out where he is?”

“Moriarty is a psychopath, he likes to play games. Right now he is joining business with pleasure.” Sherlock said throwing what was left from the fruit on the ground. “Did you know?” He asked Mary, and he knew she understood he was talking about John’s father.

“Yes. John didn’t tell me, but I figured it out. People here tend to underestimate me, which I love. It’s always easier that way.” Mary tilted her head, looking innocent before stilling again. “Jim was always a creep. He kept stalking John even after we started dating.”

Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “He won’t hurt John. At least not physically. But I don’t want to wait and see it.”

“I know, Sherlock. But we can’t go there like this. We’re hurt and weak. Besides, we have nothing to threaten them for.” Mary rubbed her face with one soiled hand while the other rested on her hip. “The most prudent thing would be to call the police.”

Sherlock snorted. “And since when the police is useful for anything? They would cause more problem, trust me. Moriarty and Moran deserve much worse than going to jail.”

Mary arched her eyebrows. “It’s true, but…” She looked around for a while before turning her eyes back to the dark haired boy. “Do you think they…? I mean, I thought that thing about the mysterious creature was bullshit, but I never actually stopped to think about what they might have done. Even with the blood, I forced myself to believe it was something else…”

Sherlock couldn’t believe the opportunity he was having, without hesitation he took it fiercely. “They did it, Mary. They killed Molly.” Sherlock shook his head. “After we accidently separated in the forest, I heard some exclamations and I tried to go after her but I got lost. I am sure they took the chance to do it.”

“But _why_?” Why would Jim hurt Molly? They were childhood friends!” Mary threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

“Molly was also John’s childhood friend, right? Moriarty is eliminating everyone next to John until he is the only one left.” Sherlock proudly said; smirking smugly inside his mind. He could easily – okay, not so easily – kill Mary, after all there were a few sharp branches and some heavy stones around, and even hurt he knew he could still be faster than the girl. But he also knew it would be much more advantageous if he let Mary go with him. She was smart and skilled; undoubtedly she was going to be very useful. After that, he would finish her and take John to himself.

“My god, I should’ve done something before. Poor baby. Oh John, I’m so sorry”, Mary covered her face with both hands and sighed heavily.

Sherlock ignored the jealous shivers he got from the pet name. “Don’t blame yourself, Mary. We’ll fix this.” He promised honestly. _He_ would surely fix _his_ problems for sure.

“How’ll we do it, though? If we’re going on our own we need to be equipped. And how the hell will managed that? We’re in the middle of the woods all fucked up, Sherlock.” Mary sighed leaning her body on a tree trunk.

“We won’t need any weapon, Mary. They may have the advantage, but we know how to _survive_.” Sherlock growled, gathering all the strength he had to stand up.

“I don’t understand”, the blonde girl said crossing her arms. “Tell me what you’re planning.”

“It’ll be less complicated than you think.” Sherlock dared to step forward and was slightly relieved when his leg didn’t hurt as much as before, although the pain was still clearly there. “They have John, and that’s both their strength and their weakness.” When Mary only looked confused, Sherlock continued. “Moriarty wants a psychological game and he shall have one. We’ll use John against him.”

“How?” Mary asked, brows furrowed. “I think he is probably aware of Jim’s true nature by now. What will we say?”

“I’m still not sure if Moriarty is keeping John unconscious or if he’s manipulating him into thinking _I_ am the bad one. Anyway it will work. The only way to hurt Moriarty – truly hurt him – is bringing John completely to our side, making him despise Moriarty for what he is. The look of fear and disgust when John finds out what he did with Molly and how he planned the entire car accident will _destroy_ James. There’s nothing worse in the world than disappointing the person you love the most.” Sherlock almost whispered the last sentence, more to himself than to Mary.

“Fine, it makes sense. But for us to do so, we’ll need to get closer. And although he wanted you to go hunting him Jim will surely not allow you in the same space as John. Besides he is not expecting me.” Mary scratched her neck.

Sherlock stared right into her light blue eyes. “Exactly.”


	12. The angel from my nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people!
> 
> I want to thank you all for the support, and I want to dedicate this especial chapter to the lovely **Luthien_00**. She asked for Jim's POV and some smutty times envolving Johniarty, so here it is. I hope you like it :D  
>  Also, please heed the new tags! This chapter may trigger some people.
> 
> I'm really sorry for the mistakes, I'll try to come again and fix them.   
> Hope you all enjoy it! :*

 

Jim couldn’t help it. He knew John would hate him later, but what should he do when the love of his life was so close and so vulnerable to him. They were safe there in the locked mausoleum; Sebastian was outside guarding the place; and Mike had already being dumped at his backyard completely drugged, his parents would never say a word fearing the shame. There was nothing stopping Jim of just jumping on John and ravishing him right there. The blonde boy was lying down on soft purple suede, his beautiful head rested on golden silky pillows, and his sleepy body was covered by a thick blue velvet duvet. Jim had arranged everything so his baby would have complete comfort until they would have to move – something that would happen in less than a day. Jim had planned the whole thing perfectly. He would love to see Holmes’ face when he arrived at the mausoleum to find nothing but an empty space with a letter Jim was about to write.

Jim had very influential relatives living in London, some of which had dirty little secrets Jim was very aware of. They were more than glad when Jim told them he would say nothing to the authorities – he had proofs - if they allowed him to enter the business as well, and Jim had proved to be a very good asset for them, with his unique and brilliant mind. They quickly granted the genius a flat to live with John near their mob community. And that was exactly where Jim was going to take John as soon as their contact arrived with the transport. It would be easier to have used the men who caused the car accident, but Jim wouldn’t risk giving more than one job to the same people. He learned with his family that the fewer people who knew your face the better.

Jim couldn’t focus on the letter he was supposed to write to the other genius saying he won. It was fun to play this game with Sherlock, but it was time to end it. Jim’s eyes traveled all over John’s beautiful body and he was sure that there would be no game in the world that would worth more than being with this wonderful creature named John Hamish Watson. Jim had tried to convince John to come with him free willingly, but he failed. Now John would have no choice. He was still unconscious, Jim had taken care of a few wounds he had suffered from the accident and he wouldn’t be able to do it with his boy squirming all over the place. But he knew that soon John would be awaken and the confront was inevitable. Jim had his speech by heart, John would have to acquiesce liking or not – probably not. If he didn’t, then Harry and mom Watson could have a little accident. He would hate it at first, but then Jim knew he would end up loving it. John was crazy to move, he wanted to be a doctor and with Jim he would be able to be whatever he wanted. They would only be happy far away from this village, Jim was absolutely sure of it.

The dark haired genius finally let go of his pen to go sit near John. The boy was still innocently sleeping; on his side, lips half parted and hair mussed sticking to his temple. Jim lay down behind him, getting as closer as he could without actually touching him. Taking a deep breath the Irish boy smelled John’s unique scent and it was overwhelming. He _needed_ to taste his skin. So he did. The gesture was almost instinctively, and he was only completely aware of his tongue swiping a stripe on John’s neck when the boy shivered lightly. He quickly withdrew it but fully regretted the moment he did it; John’s taste was still on his tongue and it was intoxicating. He wanted _more_.

Jim circled his left arm around John’s waist and pressed his chest to the blonde’s back. The feel of his erection against the boy’s backside was just too much for him, so he snapped. Allowing his arousal to guide him, Jim gently shifted John so that he was on his front, displaying his back for the genius to do whatever he wanted with it. His mouth watered as he straddled John’s thighs and softly lifted the boy’s shirt until the small of his back was bare. Jim ran his fingers across the thin light hair there, caressing the sweet dimples his love had. _Johnny seems to have been sculpted by angels. He is so perfect._ Of course Jim didn’t believe in angels, but he could. He could do anything for John.

Jim peppered the blonde’s spine with kisses, leaving the tanned skin there all red from his stubble. When he felt satisfied, Jim pulled John’s trousers down right before doing the same thing with his pants. _Oh Johnny._ The genius had missed these soft round arsecheeks so much that without thinking he grabbed both in his hands and squeezed tightly. John quivered a little beneath him but kept sleeping – Jim was never so grateful for sedatives. He parted the boy’s cheeks and lowered his mouth to eat him out. He kept doing circle and quick movements with his tongue, sucking and lapping as he wished for a long time. John tasted even better there in his most intimate.

When Jim felt the arsehole soaked and relaxed, he was not slow to pull his aching hard cock free from his trousers and into the warmth of his sweetheart’s body. The Irish genius let a long and loud moan escape his mouth at the sensation of being surrounded by John’s hot and tight passage. “Oh fuck, Johnny. You feel so good.” John moved a bit, his face turned to the left and for a moment Jim stilled. The blonde snorted and hummed something intelligible making the brunet sunk in relief. Dropping so he could lean on his elbows and bury his face on John’s hair, Jim thrust slowly. The position was not the most comfortable but it was the best for him to feel John completely.

Without wasting time, Jim established a quick and hard pace, taking everything he wanted from John. _I love you so much I can’t control myself near you, Johnny. See what you do to me?_ Jim groaned loudly and shouted John’s name when he came deeply inside his love. It was the best thing he felt in a very long time, and in the daze and drowsiness that followed his orgasm Jim couldn’t help but wondering how many more times they would do it in their flat with John sane and awaken asking Jim to go harder and move faster. Finally he removed himself from his John’s body and fell on his back beside the boy. For a moment there just looking at his sleepy form, Jim almost felt guilty for had done what he just did. _Almost_ was the key word, though, because how would he feel guilty about something that felt so _right_ and so good?

Jim sat down, tucking himself in his clothes and cleaning John with one of the pillowcases, redressing him as tenderly as possible. John would definitely feel sore when he woke up, and Jim had goosebumps knowing that _he_ was the one who made that John felt this way. _He_ was the only one who had ever been inside John and he would always be. After kissing his cheek and brushing his soft blonde locks away from his temple with his fingertips, Jim stood up and walked to the main tomb where his pen and paper were.

Feeling a bit more inspired, the genius wrote.

_(Not so) Dear Sherlock,_

_It was extremely fun to do the funky chicken dance with you. But daddy got a small, blonde and very gorgeous responsibility now. You know, everybody grows up. And I hope one day you will too._

_Xx_

_P.S.: Bring Mary down before she gets you._

Grinning widely, Jim folded the paper and planted a silly fake kiss on top of it. When he was about to go lie next to John again – anxious to enjoy every single chance he got while the boy was sedated – someone knocked hard on the mausoleum’s marble gate.

“What is it, Sebby?” Jim exclaimed.

There was only silence for some seconds and Jim felt annoyed. “Sebby? Spit it out!”

“I think it’s about time we have a proper talk, Moriarty.”

And that was _not_ Sebastian’s voice.


	13. You're already the voice inside my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Thank you all for the support! My day gets better every time I see a kudo and a bookmark, but mainly when I see a comment. Little ghosts, show yourselves! Comments inspire me so much!
> 
> Well, excuse my mistakes, this chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd. Still, I hope you enjoy it! :*

 

It was easy enough to distract Moran away from the mausoleum gate. Sherlock was using Mary’s supposed death as an asset, since no one was expecting her to be around. He had asked her to go to the left and hide behind some trees while he followed to the right and hid behind one of the nearest statues. He counted until ten and heard Mary threw a rock, the object hit the grass and rolled towards a pile of leafs, making a noise loud enough to make Moran leave his guard and walk to the direction where Mary was. She would keep running and Moran would keep going after her far far away from the building where Jim was currently keeping his John. Sherlock had no problem finding the place, especially with Mary’s help who told him that the Moriarty family was Irish so they had no grave in the village yet, but the Watson’s family lived in the place for as long as they could remember. Therefore, John was locked inside his own family’s mausoleum. Sherlock knew he had to be fast as Moriarty obviously wasn’t planning keeping John there forever.

Sherlock hit the marble door hard with both his fists. He heard Moriarty’s voice asking Moran what was it, but Sherlock just kept quiet. When the shorter genius asked again, Sherlock sighed and replied dryly. “I think it’s about time we have a proper talk, Moriarty.”

Sherlock heard some hesitance coming from the inside and then more noises as Moriarty probably worked to open the heavy door and gate. Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to ignore all the pain he was still feeling in his injured body. The adrenaline was disguising it a bit, as well as Mary’s herbs, but his leg hurt and his head wasn’t a hundred percent okay. Anyway, that wouldn’t matter; all that truly mattered was getting John away from Moriarty’s nasty claws.

When the other psychopath opened everything that blocked them from each other, they were finally face to face or as much as they could considering their height difference. Sherlock scanned his entire figure and was surprised to realize his rival had his guard down, an open book displayed for Sherlock to read as much as he wanted to. Jim’s expression was one of slightly shock and disappointment but also a bit of excitement. He probably wasn’t expecting Sherlock to arrive so soon, that put an obstacle in his plans but at the same time he thought fascinating, Sherlock deduced. There was also something terribly smug on Moriarty’s body language that had nothing to do with Sherlock. His clothes were disheveled, his hair mussed, a thin line of saliva on the side of his mouth, cheeks with a fainted red, two buttons on his trousers poorly arranged. _He had sex_. Sherlock’s mind swirled. He had seen Moran and the thug didn’t seem sexed up. _John_. But John wouldn’t do it; he had resisted Moriarty’s advances so far, he wouldn’t…

Sherlock ran by Moriarty who didn’t put up a fight or tried to stay in his way. Inside the first thing he saw was his John lying down on the corner, covered my duvets and head rested on a pillow, completely unconscious. Sherlock felt his face getting red and his fists clenched beside his stiffened body. Moriarty _raped_ John. He _abused_ and _used_ John as he pleased. Sherlock forgot what he was supposed to do there. The only thing in Sherlock’s mind was _destroying_ James Moriarty. If he could he would rape the man with a sharp iron dildo catching on fire while he made him swallow an acid gag. But since he couldn’t, he would make sure to split Moriarty’s body in half through his arse using his fist. And that would be too much less than what he truly deserved.

_Nobody_ touched his John. Sherlock would be lying if he said he didn’t have disturbing thoughts about cutting John and analyzing him from the inside out, to know every single cell from his body, to catalogue every organic particularity; but he tried to keep these thoughts away, and even he if sometimes couldn’t, he knew with all the certainty in the world that he would never ever hurt John Watson. It’s true he would do/had done everything in his reach or beyond his reach to have John, but he wouldn’t/couldn’t do anything to injure him on purpose. Sherlock wanted what was the best for John, and he knew _he_ was the one who would completely protect and cherish John above everything else. Sherlock was dangerous, and that was a quality he knew John would appreciate sooner or later.

“Johnny felt so good. I almost wish you could have a taste of him. But not really.” Moriarty’s voice echoed coming from behind Sherlock. “You weren’t supposed to arrive here but I’m quite glad you did, to be honest. You have concrete proof that _I_ own John’s body and soul, while you own his… Curiosity, perhaps.”

Sherlock put on his best mask of coldness and indifference, knowing Moriarty wouldn’t believe it, but still he couldn’t show the man just how much he wanted his head on a plate served with chips. He turned around and clasped his hands behind his back. “Did you enjoy raping him?” Sherlock asked with an amused tone.

Moriarty frowned and it seemed an honest frown. “I didn’t rape him, Holmes, I made love to him.”

Sherlock laughed darkly. “Oh right. Then tell me, did he look in your eyes and said ‘oh yes please Jim, do it harder’?”

There was a hint of color in the Irishman’s cheek. “He will.”

“Will he? Well, I suppose he will, if you say so…” Sherlock grinned.

Moriarty tilted his head. “No point pretending you don’t care, Holmes. We both know you’re eating yourself in the inside.”

“I’m starting to think you care more about playing with me than having John.”

“Never”, Moriarty arched his eyebrows. “How did you get here so fast, by the way?”

“Oh someone was gentle enough to give a lift to a badly wounded young man.” Sherlock brushed off an errant curl falling on his eyes.

“How did you kill Morstan?” Moriarty asked cheerfully.

“Well, I don’t know… But I pretty sure of how _I_ am going to kill you.” Mary’s voice spoke right after they heard a click of a gun.

Moriarty looked right to Sherlock’s eyes and there was fear right there, Sherlock was sure. To be honest, Sherlock himself was a bit surprised – and quite annoyed - that Mary had decided to appear so soon on the scene. He was hoping he could have his way with Moriarty before she came up. The shorter genius moved his body so he was half turned to Mary and half turned to Sherlock.

“Oh hello there, Mary girl. Looks like Sherlock took pity on you. And oh is that Sebby’s gun you’re holding?” Moriarty pointed at the silver Sig in Mary’s hands.

The blonde woman smiled. “He won’t be needing it anymore, trust me.”

Sherlock perceived something changing on Moriarty’s figure. For the first time since he arrived there, the shorter man looked _vulnerable_ ; his hopes crashed with Moran. He left this fragility been seen for only two seconds, though, as he shook his head and grinned, lifting his hands up in a gesture of “oh well, what can I do?”.

“I think it’s cute, you two working together. I wonder who’s going to kill whom first.” Moriarty said, clapping his hands loudly between the two of them.

“I know the answer! _I_ will kill _you_ first. How about that?” Mary aimed right on the Irishman’s head.

Moriarty sighed. “You won’t do it, Mary sweetie. You are brave, I’ll give you that, but you know how sad Johnny will be if he finds out. Besides, you don’t want a ‘murder’ label on your forehead like Holmes here.”

“Like you, you mean!” Mary exclaimed. “You killed Molly! Your own friend! You’re a crazy fuck!”

Moriarty’s mouth turned into an ‘O’, a mocking expression of shock on his face. “Sherly told you that? Tsk tsk, seems like someone’s been ly-ing!” He sang the last word. “It’s understandable, though, of course he wouldn’t admit killing Molly and Victor! How would you agree on helping him, right?”

Mary hesitated for a second; she took her eyes off of Moriarty for a moment to look at Sherlock. “He’s just trying to manipulate me, right? Look me in the eye and tell me he’s wrong, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared right through her. “Why would you believe anything John’s _rapist_ says?”

Mary’s eyes widened. “What?! You RAPED Johnny?” She stepped forward and held her gun tighter. “I’m fucking killing you, James. I’m fucking spilling your brains out right fucking now.”

Moriarty’s body shivered slightly. “Sherlock doesn’t have any morals to speak about me, he—“

“Oh my god! You can’t even deny it, can you? It’s written all over you! You raped my baby! You fucked my John!” Mary had tears falling across her flushed face. “Any last words, James? Not that I fucking care!”

Moriarty looked at John and there was longing and desperation in his dark brown eyes, although his body language was still calm and cool. Sherlock could tell he had just resigned. Seeing someone so strong and confidant – much like himself - crashing down before his eyes would be a sad thing if this weren’t the man who raped his John. Mary shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “So?” She pushed. “I’m counting until five…”

Moriarty blinked, eyes shining. He kept looking at John who was still sleeping peacefully. “I love you, Johnny. I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you what you need. But I hope you can run away from these four claws haunting you. Goodbye, honey.”

Mary’s face turned into a grimace at the psychopath’s words and she seemed to consider saying something before shaking her head and pulling the trigger. The bullet hit Moriarty right into his head. The Irishman gave one last smirk and fell to the ground. Sherlock had to cover his ears to muffle the loud sound of the shot. He looked at John who was stirring softly; one of the blonde’s hands went to his face to brush his still closed eyes. _He is waking up._ Sherlock couldn’t lose this opportunity. It would hurt, but the chances of success were bigger now.

Mary had her eyes closed, gun down. Sherlock gave one step forward and held his hands in the air. “You did the right thing, Mary. Now why don’t you throw the gun away?” He made his tone look as apprehensive and fearful as he could.

As expected, Mary opened her eyes and increased the distanced between them, gun pointed at Sherlock’s heart. “Like hell I will. I got rid of one of my problems, now I need to get rid of the other.”

“I can’t believe you actually—“

“I know what you’re capable of, Sherlock. I see in your eyes. You’re more like me than I wish. Who are we kidding, we are more like James than we pretend to be. I was suspicious of your little story about Victor… And Molly. You see, James’ testimony was the last drop, I was already ninety percent of sure based on mostly what I got from Moran. I didn’t kill him, oh no, he was a mere minion. I did hurt him, though. But before I knocked him out, he told me Jim was a crazy bastard but that _you_ were the killer. And you know something, I believed him, because Moran is a simple minded person and he doesn’t know how to lie so well as you and me.” Mary sighed. “Poor Johnny, why does he always get in the middle of the nutters’ fight?”

Sherlock crossed his arms and chuckled low and dangerously. “Still, I don’t see you doing a single thing about it.”

“Oh you will, Sherlock. Like I said, you are the last problem I need to get rid of.”

_Now. It’s going to be now. Prepare, Sherlock._

Sherlock could almost see the bullet coming towards him in slow motion. He quickly moved so it would hit his clavicle instead of his heart. He looked at the mausoleum’s ceiling and for a moment he thought the angels up there were looking back at him. They had smiles on their round faces and joy in their grey eyes. Sherlock realized he also had a smile on his pale face, and he certainly felt a happiness he hadn’t known he could feel before John. The last thing he heard brought tears to his closing eyes.

“Mary?! What have you done?!”


	14. The unsuspecting victim of darkness in the valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd or britpicke'd, sorry for the mistakes!   
> Hope you all enjoy it :*

 

The first thing Sherlock noticed was a white blur that made him instinctively shut his eyes tight again. The second thing Sherlock noticed was a strange – but not unwelcome – warmth on his right hand. He forced himself to slowly open his eyes again, and the light wasn’t so aggressive this time. Once his vision focused properly he saw the beige ceiling with the lamp hanging there, turning his head a bit he realized he was in a hospital room – a very small one, probably proportional to the hospital’s size. Finally he looked at the comforting slight pressure on the back of his hand and his heart almost stopped at the sight. John was seated on the visitor’s chair, head falling down to his side as he napped adorably; he was dressing a blue robe that looked like was brought to him by the hospital itself; his blonde hair was mussed and his entire body screamed exhaustion, they had probably done a thousand of exams on his already; his smaller hand rested protectively on Sherlock’s bigger one, and that was just perfect. John was perfect.

Sherlock couldn’t help but squeeze his hand just a little bit to know how it felt to hold hands with John. He thought that soon enough he would have the honor to do that in the street where everyone would be able to see just how utterly John was Sherlock’s. He shifted a little and regretted the act the moment his clavicle protested. There was a sting there, so Sherlock looked down to see bandages carefully put; he lifted his left hand and touched the cut on his head, as expected it was cleaned and stitched; his wounded foot was also lying down a soft pad.

“Sherlock?” John said, yawning and removing his hand off Sherlock’s to rub his eyes. Sherlock missed the contact immediately.

“John, how are you?” Sherlock asked and was surprised of how hoarse his voice sounded.

John snorted. “I’m the one who should be asking you that. You got shot, Sherlock. I… I’m so sorry. How are you feeling?”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, John. I am sorry for everything that happened to you…” Sherlock truly was, but now he knew as soon as he was completely – or not so completely – recovered he would protect John with his life and would never ever let anything bad happen to him again. John would be Sherlock’s to take care for.

“You also have nothing to be sorry for, Sherlock. This was all… Madness, really. But I’m glad it’s over, just… So many things changed, so many people hurt.” John closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Sherlock wished he was the air in his lungs. “Still, you didn’t answer me.”

“I’m alright now, everything hurts a little less. And you? Did they…”

John nodded. “Yes, they did the… Rape procedure.” John bit his bottom lip. “I can’t believe the people around me! I always knew Jim was… Different, but I never knew he would be capable of doing such things, and… Mary. She was my biggest surprise.”

Sherlock waited a minute before asking. “What happened to her? In fact, what happened after I passed out?” He knew already, but any excuse to listen to John’s voice was a good one.

John ran his hand through his hair, messing it more. Beautiful, just beautiful. “Mary started to ramble about crazy things, like you were the villain and she was the heroin, which was extremely hard to believe since she was the one with the gun and you were the one bleeding your life out on the floor.” John shook his head, grimacing at the memory. “Apparently someone had called the police; I’m not sure whom, though. There was also a strange black car that quickly took off when the officials arrived. Hmm, I know Sebastian is here somewhere receiving medical assistance as well. Mary was taken under custody in our small police department, but I don’t know what they’ll do with her yet. And Jim, well… You know.”

Sherlock thought about reaching for John’s hand again, but considered that maybe would be too much too soon. Instead he tried to sit down, knowing John would touch him softly to keep him still so he would not hurt himself. As expected the blonde sweet boy did just that, and Sherlock enjoyed those warm fingertips with every pore of his body.

“You can’t move too much, Sherlock. If you need anything just tell me, alright?” John said fondly, caressing Sherlock’s good side with his thumb. Sherlock got goosebumps.

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock said, hiding all his stormy feelings away from his tone.

They were silent for a few more moments, which was not uncomfortable but companionable. John’s hand sometimes reached for Sherlock’s, but they didn’t quite touch, just stopped there millimeters away from each other. It felt intimate in a way he had never felt before. Sherlock wanted _more,_ all of John.

Unfortunately there were a few knocks on the door. Sherlock sighed, but John made no move to stand up. “Yes, come in”, he simply said.

The door opened and a very rigid and cringed Mike Stamford walked in. He wore a grey sweater and shabby jeans; everything about him screamed confusion and embarrassment. He had just taken a shower, but didn’t eat anything after, also he didn’t bother to iron any of his clothes, and so did no one in his house, which meant living there was hard lately; plus, the bags under his tired eyes showed he had had zero sleep since all the confusion. He had little shivers and a paleness Sherlock knew well; Jim had drugged him and the effects were still there.

“Hi, guys. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything.” Mike said shyly, closing the door behind him.

“It’s okay, Mike. How are you feeling?” John asked, smiling.

Mike shrugged. “Weird, to be honest. I can’t remember very well what happened since the accident, and before… Things were a bit blurry too.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Mike. All this confusion was because of me. I--” John shook his head remorseful.

Sherlock quickly interrupted. “Stop, John. It was not your fault, I told you before. Moriarty was a psychopath and you have no responsibilities for his actions.”

Mike nodded. “I agree. John, you were the main victim.” Mike stepped forward and crossed his arms. “I came here to see how you were, and… Also to say that there is something wrong with Victor, I think.”

John frowned. “Why? Did you talk to him?”

“No, that’s the problem. I went to his house and his parents said he never came back.” Mike turned to look at Sherlock, who was restraining the will to narrow his eyes and attack the boy, ripping his loose tongue with his bare hands. “Didn’t you go with him to his house? You said his parents had a fight, but they seemed okay.”

Sherlock knew this would happen eventually, although he was planning things to go a bit differently. Pulling on his best neutral voice, he said, “That’s what he told me. And yes, I left him there at the Inn, but I didn’t go inside.”

“He never called you back, did he? You said he would call you when things were alright.” John asked, voice worried.

“True, he never did. Do you think that… No, I don’t think they would do it.” Sherlock made a dismissive gesture as if his thoughts were absurd. He knew the boys would fall for it.

“What?” Mike asked, biting the bait.

“No, it’s probably not right. Although it is weird the Trevors seemed okay, because I could hear their shouts on Victor’s phone when they were calling him.”

“Do you think they did something to Victor?” John almost whispered, leaning his body forward and resting his arm on the bed. John was so smart, Sherlock wanted to kiss him on the lips and never let go. But instead he forced himself to seem as worried as them.

“Maybe. Where else would Victor go?” Sherlock said.

“His parents are a bit stressed, but they are not… Killers!” Mike murmured the last word as if it was a curse.

“I would have said the exact same thing about Mary, if you have asked this yesterday morning.” John sighed.

Sherlock smirked mentally. _That’s my boy. I just need to pull a few more strings before you are completely mine, and it’s not one Mike Stamford who’s going to stay in my way._

\--

The woman’s steps were heavy and the clap clap of her high heels on the cemented floor announced her entry to the small and ugly corridor. It was empty, no officials and no prisoners on the few cells, unless of course for the very last one which guarded her objective there. She was thankful for the easiness it took for her to break into the place without any suspicious, but she had to admit she wished there was a bigger challenge. Hopefully this part of her plan would show to be more exciting; besides she would work with a woman, and she always liked better to work with women.

When she finally stood up in front of the miniscule cell that guarded a very sad looking blonde girl wearing stained clothes, she just crossed her arms and shook her head in disapproval. “Mary Morstan?”

The girl just turned around and looked at the woman with a wary expression, not answering with words but nodding.

“Good. Now, I heard you’re a smart one. Want to get the hell out of here?”

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Why are you offering help?

“I’m not offering you help. I’m here to propose a deal. If you agree then I’ll let you go, if you don’t then I’m afraid you will go to court.” She said simply.

Mary looked down for a moment, considering. “What is the deal?” She finally asked, staring the woman in the eyes.

“To get Sherlock Holmes.” The brunette grinned.

Mary bared her teeth. “I’m in.”


	15. Comes creeping on so haunting every time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you all for the support, and please don't hesitate to write a comment, it makes me extremely happy :D
> 
> So, as usual this chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd, so excuse my many mistakes, please!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it :*

 

“You should stay at my house”, John suggested, hands circling Sherlock’s waist as he helped him get out of bed.

Sherlock couldn’t say anything - he could barely think. John was so beautifully protective and worried; it was deliciously overwhelming to know all of that was directed at him. And what could Sherlock possibly say to the warmth radiating from the shorter boy’s arms? Sherlock used the excuse of balancing himself to grab John’s shoulder tightly with his hand. He hated the layers of cloth between their skins, but he took comfort in knowing he would have all of that in a short amount of time.

“Thank you, but I still have my room at the inn”, Sherlock said, knowing – and wanting – John to insist.

“I don’t think it’s wise to go there now. I mean, we don’t know what happened to Victor, right? I hope not, but maybe his parents…” John walked slowly to the door with Sherlock beside him.

Sherlock would have to solve this little problem involving Stamford and the Trevors, but he had no mood for it right now, all he could think about was getting to John’s house and into his bedroom. Being so close to his things and his life, to smell where he spent most of his time, to feel the bed he slept every night. Sherlock had to control himself or otherwise he would be shivering from picturing those scenes. “Maybe you’re right, but still… I don’t want to disturb you and your family.”

“You won’t. My mom is out taking care of an aunt of mine who’s sick and my sister is doing whatever she does.” John said opening the door.

That was bittersweet for Sherlock. Of course he was happy he would have John all for himself at his house, but he couldn’t stop the raging of coming up to his face when he thought about John’s mother and sister not caring about him after everything he did for them. John had being injured and raped, but they still didn’t spare a second of their time to go see him. Sherlock failed to understand how a perfect creature such as John Watson was neglected by the people around him, when it should happen quite the opposite; John should be constantly cherished and loved, he deserved to be taken care and petted.  Sherlock would give all of that to him, he would provide John the life was supposed to have. But first he thought it was only fair if he punished all of those who treated John as if he wasn’t the most precious thing in the planet.

“Alright then, I’d be honored. Thank you, John.” Sherlock answered as neutral as he could. “But I think I should go grab my things at the inn first.”

“Are you sure? The pack you took to the camping is with my stuff, the paramedics gave it to me.” John said innocently, without knowing how close he had gotten of finding out Sherlock’s weapons.

“Yes, I need to pick up some clothes. I don’t think your clothes would fit me”, Sherlock chuckled trying to light up the mood – or his shock of John almost finding out who he truly was. It would have made it all harder.

“Alright. But I’ll go in with you, yes?”

Sherlock nodded. His chest was about to explode of happiness. John had a care-taker nature and he just couldn’t help but worry about everyone else before worrying about himself, which was intolerable. Sherlock thought the world should have a law that said everyone should care and protect John and whoever failed to do so would be sentenced to death. But since – unfortunately – he didn’t have power enough to do it, he was going to keep the law to himself.

“You don’t need to”, Sherlock said while they walked down the corridor.

“But I want to.” John said in a tone that was not open to argument.

\--

After getting the things he took to the camping and eating something at the hospital cafeteria, John and Sherlock went to the inn riding John’s red bike. His body was much stronger than when he first arrived at the hospital three days before, and sometimes he even forgot he had a hole in his clavicle. It felt impossibly good to sit behind John and grab his waist so he wouldn’t fall. He wanted to hide his face on the boy’s blonde hair, but he knew it was not the time yet.

“Oh boys! I was so worried about you! I heard what happened, and Mike came here. Oh dear god.” Mrs. Trevor came to hug them both once they were inside the inn. Sherlock noticed how hard John tried to seem okay with the gesture when in reality he was suspicious of the woman. “How are you? Do you know where Victor is? I’m so worried about him! I thought he could be one of the victims but the police said they didn’t find him there…”

The police was a pain in Sherlock’s arse. They had interrogated John and him two times while they were in the hospital, asking always the same questions and receiving always the same answers. They had also being told Mary had escaped her cell and was nowhere to be found. This had panicked John, who just kept seated beside Sherlock’s bed, shaking slightly. Sherlock was not afraid of Mary and he was not worried. She was determine and smart that much was true, but he was more. He could take her anytime she felt like coming to sight, and he also knew he was the one where John’s trust was placed now. Mary was done, so if she thought she would get something out there he would let her try.

“The last time I saw Victor he was entering here. He said he would call me, but he didn’t.” Sherlock repeated the same story he had being telling over and over again.

“But this didn’t happen! Unless he arrived here while we were sleeping.” Mrs. Trevor took a deep breath, clasping her hands together. “Do you think he came inside, took his things and left?”

“Are his things missing?” John asked, crossing his arms.

“Not really, no. Not from here or our other house. It doesn’t make any sense. The police said we should wait for another week because they are busy with Jim’s mess. Another week! My boy could have been kidnapped or killed!” She covered her eyes with her hands and started to pant heavily.

“Drink some water, Mrs. Trevor. We’re here to take Sherlock’s luggage. He’s staying at my place.” John said, making a move to climb the stairs.

“What? Why?” Mrs. Trevor widened her eyes. “First Ms. Adler, and now you! Oh god…”

That caught Sherlock’s attention. “Ms. Adler is no longer a guest?”

The woman shook her head. “No, she just paid and left, giving no reason of why she did so! And now you…”

“After everything that’s happened, I think you’d agree that Sherlock should be around friends, Mrs. Trevor.” John said calmly but assertively.

Sherlock had goosebumps at that. John considered Sherlock a _friend_. Sherlock had never had any friends – he never wanted one for that matter. He wished he could just set fire to the whole town and take John far far away from there. Maybe convince Mycroft to help him going to Europe, where they could live in a small but cozy cottage in a place where the clime wasn’t hot or cold. Sherlock even thought that if he had John, he wouldn’t feel the same urge to kill. Maybe… An idea occurred to him. But he shook it off for now. _We’ll have time to think about that later._

“Alright, yes, it makes sense I think.” She answered, looking at John. “Go ahead, kid.” She gestured to the stairs.

“I’ll go there, John. Could you wait here?”

“Don’t you need help?”

“No, thanks. It’s fine.”

With that Sherlock climbed the stairs and quickly entered his room. He had only a few minutes to do what he wanted to. Sherlock promptly packed all of his things, and picked up his “material” from the backpack he was caring on his good side. For the first time in his life he cursed himself for cleaning his weapons. It would be easier if the police found them covered in Victor’s blood, but since that was impossible now, he would have to arrange something else. No problem at all, he already knew what to do.

\--

“Welcome to the Watson’s.” John exclaimed when they entered his house.

The place was just as Sherlock expected it to be. Small, wooden floor, flowered wallpaper, old furnishings and a slight smell of tea in the air. Everything was modest and old, but Sherlock didn't care, he would treat with respect the place where John had had his first experiences and his childhood. Even if the house was full of dark memories, he was certain John cherished it.

“I’ll make us some tea. You can go to my room and wait me there, if you want to.” John smiled at him and Sherlock had to put his hands behind his back and clench them hard so he didn’t jump on John.

“Alright.” He managed to say.

“It’s the first room on the left.”

Sherlock climbed the stairs quickly but when he got to John’s door he hesitated. John was his god and he was about to enter his temple. Slowly he turned the doorknob and opened the door. Stepping inside he let his things fell to the floor while he analyzed the place with dark wide eyes. There were several band posters Sherlock didn’t know on the light blue walls; a small desk with some papers and knick knacks spread on it; a ragged sofa with a Union Jack pillow beside a rusty window; and the bed. The bed. Sherlock sat on the edge, caressing the white and orange duvet with his hands. Everything smelled of John. Pure _John_. It was intoxicating; he was breathing John’s scent in.

Footsteps outside the room startled him out of his frenzy. “Here it is.” John said as he sat beside Sherlock, giving him one of the two cups he was holding. “Cheers.”

They both just drank quietly for a moment. Sherlock lost in all sensations, the ones he could name and the ones he couldn’t. He was about to make a comment about something trivial so John wouldn’t think he was bored or upset, when he heard the sniff. He turned his head to look at the blonde and saw his face flushed and his mouth trembling while his small hands grabbed the cup hard on his chest. Sherlock wasted no time putting his cup aside before doing the same to John’s. He shifted so his entire body was facing his love. “What is it, John? Are you in pain?” He asked worried. His boy shouldn’t be crying. He shouldn’t feel upset. He just shouldn’t.

“No, I… I’m sorry”, John hid his face with both hands started to sob.

Sherlock removed John’s hands gently of his face and pulled the boy to his chest, wrapping his short figure in his strong arms. It didn’t take long for John to grasp Sherlock’s coat and hold on for dear life. Sherlock forgot his restraint and pressed a kiss to the blonde hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for, John. It’s their fault, not yours.”

“So many things…” John said between tears. “They all did it because of me!”

Sherlock kissed him again before pulling back a little bit so he could cup John’s beautiful face with both his big hands. “You’re worth it. What they did it was certainly wrong, but you’re worth it, John.”

John’s brows furrowed. “I’m worthy of lives being taken?”

Sherlock didn’t hesitate. “Yes, you are. If I had to take a thousand lives to save yours, I would.” It was probably the most honest thing he had ever said.

For a moment he thought John would stand up and tell him to fuck off, but instead the shorter boy just ran his left hand across Sherlock’s curls and leaned to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Sherlock. I hate to cry and act like a child, but sometimes it’s…”

Sherlock caressed John’s temple. “You’ve been through a lot, John. It’s perfectly alright. I’m here for you, I’ll always be. Yes?”

“Yes.” John said, hiding his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck.


	16. We'll wish this never ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my lovelies!
> 
> I'm so sorry it took me forever to update this. Life and inspiration got in the way, but things are better now.  
> So, thank you all very much for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks, they mean so much to me! 
> 
> As usual this chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd so forgive my mistakes, please, yes?
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it! xx

 

“Are you sure it’s him?” Mary asked, biting her bottom lip nervously.

“Yes. Look at all these angles. It’s definitely him.” Irene replied, her tone almost bored.

“Alright, but we can’t really see his face so it’s not proof. Plus, lots of people were caught in the footage, why would he be the only one connected to the crime?” Mary leaned back against her chair and exhaled in annoyance.

Irene stood up and walked to one of the closest shelves in their rented room. She grabbed a big blue bag and carried it back to the table Mary was at. She unzipped, lifted and then turned the bag down so all its contents could fall down on the wooden table. There were several DVDs with a light blue cover on them. The blonde girl took one and twirled on her hand.

“What are these?”

Irene sat back and took a sip from her wine. “These are all the footages where our lovely killer makes an appearance. If you watch them separately there’s nothing wrong, but if you pay attention you can see the pattern.” Irene crossed her legs.

“By pattern you mean the killing. There was a body left in all those places Sherlock have been seen walking near.” Mary arched her eyebrow.

“Yes. But unfortunately these cannot be used as evidence alone, I need more.”

“You have more. You have me!” Mary pointed her thumbs at herself.

Irene sighed. “Yes, but I told you already: you are not a reliable witness. First, because you were just under arrest and now is a fug—“

“I’m only a fugitive because you—“ Mary tried to protest but Irene gestured her to stop with a single elegant hand move.

“You would have being completely useless then. You shot two people, Mary, and you killed one! They wouldn’t have listened to you anyway. But now here with me you’ll have the chance to actually do something about it. And I can assure you, my client will fix your situation if you help us getting Sherlock.”

Mary frowned. “Who’s your client?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Irene simply answered, not looking at Mary.

“How can you know he will pay you and fix my situation?”

“He is a man who pays his debts, besides… He has quite a strong interest in this issue.” Irene said before finishing her glass of wine.

“Did Sherlock kill someone he cared about?” Mary asked, curious.

“Not exactly.” Was Irene smirking slightly or was that just Mary’s imagination? She couldn’t quite decode for a second later the woman was shaking her head and looking serious again. “But enough about my client. Let’s talk about what _you_ need to do.”

“Alright”, Mary nodded firmly. “What do I need to do?”

“They found Molly’s body buried near the lake, didn’t they?” Irene asked as she stood up and paced calmly around the room.

“You know they did.”

“Yes. So I need you to go back to the lake.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Victor Trevor.” Irene stopped right behind Mary. “Holmes killed him too. Even if you hadn’t told me, I could see the way he looked at poor Trevor when we met. That boy was nothing but a prey just ready to be taken.”

Mary clenched her fists in rage. Victor was a good kid, he didn’t deserve to be murdered, especially not by someone as sick as Holmes. Nor did Molly. Or John. _Her_ John. She knew Sherlock wouldn’t waste time in trying to get John to himself, and the simple thought of the killer holding her John in his arms and… It was physically painful.

Irene leaned her body against the table, hands on either side of her lean figure and eyes fixed on Mary. Funny how the blonde’s blue eyes seemed so faded, so dead, near the brunette’s ones. Irene’s eyes were the second most expressive eyes she had ever seen, there were full sentences written there. The first most expressive eyes were of course John’s. _I miss you, baby._

“I don’t think he misses you too.” Irene grinned. “I noticed how Holmes looks at John Watson. It’s predatory, yes, but in a different way… I don’t think you should worry about him, though. He’s better than us.”

Mary threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “How’s that?”

“He’s in the arms of the devil, while we’re going against it. Who do you think has more chance of getting out of this alive?”

Mary shivered.

\--

Sherlock could barely control his breathing. He finally had John in his arms. They were lying down on the blonde’s bed for the past twenty minutes. Sherlock was holding him tightly while John rested his head on his chest. He didn’t know, though, exactly what John was thinking about all of this. Sherlock had never had a friend, but he knew well that friends didn’t do that to each other; it was too intimate for a mere friendship. But what if John didn’t see it? What if for him it was only comfort and nothing else? Should Sherlock try to advance? Or should he just enjoy the moment?

“Stop thinking”, John whispered, looking up with those pretty blue eyes.

Sherlock smiled. “How did you know?”

John snorted. “Are you kidding? It’s written all over you.”

“Oh so you are the one deducing things now?” Sherlock said playfully, brushing some locks away from John’s forehead.

“I’ve been with you for too many days in a row, I guess”, John chuckled.

“Do you mind?”

“Obviously not.” John cuddled even closer, dropping one leg between Sherlock’s lean ones.

Sherlock swallowed hard. He was so close, one wrong move and John would notice his erection. It could be funny if it wasn’t frustrating. Sherlock was a killer, a predator; he was used to be in charge, to have complete control on the situation. But when he was around John, things were opposite. John was the captain, the ruler, the one who decided what to do and when to do it. It was almost scary how much Sherlock felt at John’s mercy. The genius couldn’t even remember properly when he had stopped caring only about himself. It was all for John, everything he did. Ironic, some weeks ago he was sure he couldn’t have feelings at all. He thought himself as a sociopath, a person above all kinds of nonsenses of the heart. Oh how wrong was he? It messed up with his entire entity and the darkest and creepiest part of his mind told him John needed to die so he could come back to be what he once was.

His entire body shivered at that thought. He looked down at John’s beautiful face, and he knew once again without a doubt that he would rather kill himself than hurting John. His internals battles probably showed on his face because a moment later his adorable boy was cupping Sherlock’s cheek, thumb slightly caressing the porcelain skin. John’s brows were furrowed in that cute way Sherlock couldn’t resist, his lips almost a pout in concern. “What’s the matter, Sherlock?”

“I’m sorry, my mind sometimes just… But I’m fine, it’s okay.” Sherlock sighed and tried a smile.

John was not convinced. “You are leaving, aren’t you? I mean, you’re almost a hundred per cent recovered - at least physically - so there’s no reason for you to be here anymore.” The blonde lowered his eyes and made a move to remove his hand from Sherlock’s cheek, but the taller man was faster and took his hand to keep it in place.

“Yes, I’m leaving. But…” Sherlock moved his other hand from John’s back to lift the boy’s chin so they were looking at each other’s eyes. “You’re coming with me. I mean, if you want to, of course.”

John’s mouth was a perfect ‘o’ before he cleared his throat. “Ehn… What, me? Why would you want to take me with you?”

“Please John, I know you’re smarter than that.” He said in a teasing tone.

John huffed. “Right, it can’t be what I’m thinking…”

“Oh really? Then what’s this we’re doing?” The words came out too fast of Sherlock’s mouth and maybe too rough, he didn’t mean to sound like that. He looked at John expectantly. “I mean, I—“

“Maybe it’s too early, but… You’ve helped me more in these past few days than anyone else had ever done before. More than Jim or Mary… And if I’m doing alright now – or as alright as I can do – it’s because of you. So I’m not sure what we are doing, but I am sure that I want to keep doing it.” John finished his speech with a delightful blush on his round cheeks.

Sherlock was taken aback by John’s words. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to say something, to just spit everything he was feeling out, but he couldn’t. He felt too much and there were not enough words in the English vocabulary to express it. John giggled, noticing Sherlock’s shyness, and in an unexpected move he leaned forward to press their lips together. Really light and chaste at first, but then John shifted his body he was completely on top of Sherlock, elbows supporting his weight as he started to kiss the killer deeply and passionately. Sherlock could feel John’s erection pretty well on his stomach now, and it brought him a desire so strong he thought it was impossible to feel.

Their tongues danced with one another, John’s being the one guiding it since Sherlock was still in shock that that was actually happening. John wanted him as well. His hands automatically wrapped again around John’s waist, pulling him closer. After a while like this, Sherlock felt sure enough to flip both of them on the bed, leaving John on his back as he peppered the boy’s jaw and neck with soft urgent kisses. _This is all mine to take. All mine._ Sherlock didn’t know where to start his exploration through John’s body. He wanted to kiss and touch and caress and catalogue every single part of him. He would have time later, now by the sounds John was making he realized he needed to desperately get him off.

“Sherlock…” John groaned with a husky voice as Sherlock’s mouth made his way down.

“I’ll take care of you, John. I’ll always take care of you.” Sherlock purred between licks and nips at John’s now bare stomach. He wanted to undress John completely, but that would have to wait. He quickly unbuttoned and unzipped John’s trousers, but before he pulled his pants down, Sherlock glanced at John for permission.

“Yes, yes, please Sherlock. Need you.”

That did it. Sherlock moved the grey pants down revealing a delicious thick cock. His mouth watered before he finally wrapped his lips around the pink moist head. He had done this before but always for some particular reason that had nothing to do with giving or getting pleasure. With John was different, he wanted John to feel good, to feel perfect, to feel cherished, the way he was supposed to since he was born. This was all about John.

With that in mind he took more of John’s length into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down, enjoying the taste of John. He swallowed around it and the noise John made drove Sherlock insane. He used his hands to cup John’s bollocks and squeezed them lightly while his other hand grasped the base of John’s cock.

“Sherlock!” John moaned.

Sherlock increased the speed and only stopped sucking on John’s leaking prick when he lapped carefully the delightful head and the sides of it. His own cock was as hard as one could be, but he made no move to relieve it. Instead he brushed John’s member with the tip of his teeth, only to cause a different friction.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock!” John screamed, both of his hands grabbing Sherlock’s dark mussed curls. “That feels so good! I’m so close!”

It took only one more deep throat for John to come hard on his mouth. He swallowed every single drop, closing his eyes to appreciate how good John tasted. He pulled his mouth away when John whined at the sensibility, and took John’s face on his big hands. They were both breathing hard millimeters away from each other. “You’re so beautiful”, Sherlock whispered to a flushed and sweaty John that looked like the most delicious thing in the planet.

The blonde chuckled. “What about you? You… God, Sherlock. You’re perfect. I… Give me one second and I’ll return the favor, yes?”

“No need to, John. I’m—“

But John didn’t allow him to answer; instead he pushed Sherlock down on the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. “I want you to feel as good as I did.” John panted, palming Sherlock’s erection through his black trousers.

_I already do, just by looking at you._ But the words never got to his mouth because in that moment John decided to press his bare bum on Sherlock clothed cock. The genius gripped the shorter boy’s waist tightly while he kept moving slowly. He wished he was not wearing trousers or pants, but then again it was only more friction to help with the pleasure, not that he needed any with John’s warm arse doing obscene movements right there.

“Oh John!” Sherlock shouted in a tone he didn’t know he had.

John twisted his thighs just in the right way and that was it. Sherlock came like a teenager inside his pants, making a mess of himself but not being able to give a damn about it. He felt so good he thought he would explode at any time. John dropped on him, resting his damp blonde head on Sherlock’s shoulder. The genius circled an arm around the strong waist and kept him there impossibly close to him. _The future is just beginning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh do you have a Twitter account? If you do and want to follow me, here's my user: @lihquinn  
> (:


	17. This sick strange darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I know, it's been a looooooong time since I've updated this story! I'm really sorry! I will never give up on it, but I needed to take a break because of personal reasons. Now finally I was able to write again! Hope you are still interested.
> 
> I'm really sorry for any mistakes here, I have no beta. 
> 
> Hope you all like it!!
> 
> xx

 

“What is going on there, sir?” She asked, her tone the most innocent she could manage.

The police officer turned around to look at her and his eyes hovered her entire body in an appreciative stare before he finally answered, “I cannot give you any kind of information while the investigation is on, madam, I'm sorry.”

“But I was just staying there a night ago! Don't you think I have the right to know if my life was in danger this entire time I've been sleeping there?” Irene put on her indignant face wishing it would convince the man.

The cop hesitated at first, looking down and then up before finally setting his small eyes on her big bright ones. “It seems like the owners killed their son. Now, please step back and do not share this information with anyone.” He turned around to stare at the crowded and quite messy inn where Irene could hear loud voices and some fussiness. She would step back alright, she had gotten what she needed. _Holmes is fast._ She walked away from the scene, satisfied. Her current client wouldn't be happy about it, but she couldn't help but to feel a bit proud of the young man. A failed human being, that was certain, but what a brilliant one. Irene knew she would find Holmes even more interesting if he hadn't fell in love with the Watson boy. _The Watsons house, that's where_ _he obviously is_ _._

The woman took her phone from her purse and quickly pressed call. Mary picked up at the first ring.

“Yes?”

“The Trevors are being arrested right in this moment. Guess what for?”

“My god...” Mary gasped, figuring everything out. “What are you going to do?”

“Me? I'm going to repeat my yesterday command. Go to the lake and find Victor's body.” Irene said simply in a bored tone.

Mary hesitated before the woman heard a deep exhale. “Alright, but it will be useless. If Holmes doesn't want us to find the body we won't find the body. He's a pro, remember. Probably done it a thousand of times.”

Irene chuckled as she walked back to her car. “He had never been hunted by me. Now, I left you some instructions on the table next to the fruit basket. Follow them strictly, and if you have any doubts please call me. I'd rather be annoyed by questions than have you impulsively doing something imprudent.”

“But aren't you coming with me?” Mary asked slightly unsure.

“No, I have other equally important things to do. Don't be insecure now, Morstan. You can do it, you know that. I'll hang up now, talk to you later.”

Irene got inside her car, but when she started the engines her phone buzzed. Sighing, she picked it up but her annoyed expression faded as she realised it wasn't Mary the one calling. Pressing green, she prepared her most formal tone. “Adler.”

“He did it, didn't he? The Trevor case.”

“Yes. I just found out about the kid's parents. Sad thing.”

“Oh I imagine.” There was a brief pause before her client started talking again. “There has been a change of plans.”

Irene arched her eyebrows and touched her temple in a worried gesture. “Yes?”

“I need you to visit the Watson boy.”

 

–

 

“We should leave town today.” Sherlock said as he buttoned up his shirt.

“Today? I... I want to go with you, but I will need some more time to fix things, warn my family, work, I can't just vanish, as much as I wish to do so.” John said, and Sherlock turned around from where he was standing to look at the beautiful naked creature lying down on his belly on the bed, looking divine. Like a gift from the gods to Sherlock. The killer forgot what they were talking the moment his eyes caught sight of that strong and fragile golden body. He completely ignored his dressing and just pounced, covering John's back with his pale self, shirt half buttoned and trousers still on the floor. He nuzzled John's neck and dropped several light kisses there.

“I want to sculpt you. You're already a work of art.” Sherlock said as he ran his hands across John's soft but muscled back.

“Please!” John snorted. “I'm a mess.”

“ _My_ mess. My perfect mess.” Sherlock pressed a kiss to the shorter boy's hair. “And you're leaving this place with me today.”

John sighed and dropped his head to the pillow. “I want to, but...”

“Write them all a letter. They don't deserve your time. A letter is enough.”

John was quiet for a moment, brows furrowed that way Sherlock thought extremely adorable. “I think you're right. They wouldn't miss me much, I think. The two people who would miss me are...” He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment.

Sherlock leaned on his elbows and urged John to turn over so they were chest to chest. He most definitely did not like where his love's thoughts were going to. John should not be thinking about anyone else but Sherlock. He lowered his head and kissed those delicate lips deeply. When their tongues met he knew for sure that now he was the only thing in John's mind. After some more minutes snogging they pulled back, Sherlock changing positions so John could rest his head on the taller man's chest.

“Are you sure you want me to go with you?” John asked, insecurity all over his voice.

Sherlock frowned. He needed to work on that. John should know how incredible he was. Sherlock would teach him that. “John. Listen to me. This people who treated you like crap during your life are worse than the filthiest rats. They didn't understand the treasure they had the honour to be with.” Sherlock cupped John's jaw with one of his hands while the other hugged the blond tighter. “You're everything. If you're not around I can't function properly. I always thought a part of me was missing, and the moment I locked eyes with you for the first time I realised what it was.

John's dark blue eyes were filled with tears. “You make me feel... Enough.”

Sherlock wanted to shout out loud to the world that John was so much more than enough, he was so much more than this planet deserved. Instead of doing that Sherlock leaned down and kissed John again. He just couldn't get enough of kissing his love. John made him feel like he didn't need to kill ever again.

“Alright.” John said when they parted. “I'll write the note, but before that we need to have breakfast. Mom and Harry have probably already left by now, that is if they ever slept here at all. So we can go downstairs to eat.”

 

Once at the kitchen, John started to open all cabinets looking for ingredients. Sherlock sat down at the counter just observing the blond with a happy smirk on his face. John was wearing nothing but is pyjama bottoms on that delicious round arse of his.

“Damn, we're out of milk. How is anyone out of milk?” He rued, placing both hands on his hips. “I'll go grab some at the bakery. Be right back, okay?”

Sherlock grabbed John by the waist as the boy was passing by him. “No, you won't. Stay right here, okay? I'll buy it for you.”

“I can go, Sherlock. I'm fine.”

“I know you are. But I want to go. I buy, you prepare. Alright?” The genius said nuzzling John's cheek.

“Fine. In that case I'll make a list.” John giggled and kissed Sherlock's nose before running to write the items down.

“While I'm gone, why don't you pack and write that letter?” Sherlock said softly, placing a kiss on the top of John's head before he left the house with the list and money in his pockets.

“Okay.” John smiled and closed the door.

 

The bakery was close but Sherlock walked as fast as he could. He wanted to go back to John as soon as possible. It felt wrong to be away from him, he had a bad feeling about it, like a bug crawling under his skin. But it would be worse if he had allowed John to leave the house. Moriarty was dead, but somehow he feared something might happen at any moment. He had taken care of the Trevor problem and he would find a way to shut Stamford's mouth before he go, but still... There was something misplaced in the air. Sherlock just wanted to take John far away from there, give him the life he deserved. Good food, good clothing, good university, good house, good caring.

Sherlock quickly bought everything John asked him to, paying with his own money instead of the blond's, obviously. He felt a plan forming in his head regarding the Mike Stamford case as he headed towards John's house. Sherlock wouldn't have to kill Stamford to make him quiet after all. Just thinking about John helped him feel light, like he start solving his problems without shedding blood, something he loved to do. _You'll always be a killer, a murderer. John will found out eventually,_ a voice in the darkest part of his mind said. He shook his head and focused on going back to his love, his John.

He knocked two times at the door when he finally arrived. He knew John was most likely upstairs gathering his things, so he imagined it would take some minutes for his boy to answer the door. But after the fifth minute he just thought it was odd and started to get worried. Sherlock backed a few steps and got ready to push the door open with his own body when he heard the keys being turned and the knob moving. He relaxed a little and walked towards it.

It wasn't John who greeted him there.

“Mr. Holmes! I'm sorry the delay, I was on the phone.” Irene Adler spoke with a wide grin on her pale face. She stepped aside and gestured for Sherlock to go inside. “Please.”

Sherlock bared his teeth and ran in, dropping the bags on the floor. “John!” He screamed, looking everywhere for his blond. There was no signal of struggle in the house, nothing out of order. Sherlock went to every single room and found nothing, John hadn't even packed. He took a deep breath before going back to the living room where Irene was elegantly seated, legs crossed and a glass of wine in her hand. “Are you done?” She asked arching one eyebrow.

Sherlock wanted to strangle her, tear her to pieces right there, but he knew he couldn't. If he wanted to see John again he would have to listen to her, besides he knew this was much bigger than her. Somehow he knew this woman would cause him problems the moment he saw her that morning in the inn. He sat down in the biggest armchair and glared at her without saying a word. He didn't need to anyway.

“I won't even offer you some”, she said gesturing to the glass, “I know you won't want it.” She sighed. “I see you bought everything on the list. John would be glad! Oh no need to look at me like that, Sherlock. He is fine, he is alive, he is safe. Well, at least safer than he was here with you.”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Sherlock growled.

“You.” She let the glass on the centre table and put both her hands on her knees. “You need to come with me now. There has been a... Change of plans.” Irene waited to see if Sherlock would say something but gave up and continued. “I was supposed to gather all evidence and deliver it to the police, since they seem so incapable of doing it themselves. But now my client changed his mind. I knew that would happen eventually, people are so weak when they care. It's pathetic, really.” She rolled her eyes.

Sherlock stood up, impatiently. “You can tell my brother I am not going anywhere until I talk to John.” He said simply and was momentarily content when he saw a slight surprise in her eyes.

“Of course. Here, press Call. He'll answer.” Irene handed him her phone with an irritating smirk on her face.

Sherlock grabbed it and pressed green. He didn't have to wait five seconds before John's voice echoed in the other line. “Sherlock?” His boy sounded worried.

The killer's body sagged with relief at hearing his sweetheart's voice. “How are you, my love? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I failed in protecting you again.”

“I'm okay. Don't blame yourself. I'm glad you weren't there the time they came.”

“John, I'm going to take you out of there, alright? I promise, we'll be together again.” Sherlock felt his cheeks flushing and his hands shaking slightly. That had never happened, he was _afraid_. Afraid of losing John for real this time, afraid of dying without being able to see John one last time, afraid of not being able to fulfil his promise.

“Take care of yourself, Sherlock. Please, think of yourself first. Okay?”

“I can't.” Sherlock whispered before Irene abruptly pulled the phone from his hand. He tried to grasp it back but she pressed End Call and dropped it on her purse. “That's that for now. I have a car waiting for you in the back. You better come with me if you want to keep your promise.”

“Mycroft wouldn't hurt John.” Sherlock snarled.

“He wouldn't. But his men would.” She smiled. “Yes? Oh so many years without your brother, you're probably dying to see him again! Let's go!”

 


	18. Catching things and eating their insides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my lovelies!
> 
> I know, I know... And I'm terribly sorry for how long it took for me to update it. But look, my inspiration seems to have returned like the good girl she is and I'll be updating all the stories much faster now. Okay?
> 
> This chapter is not beta'd or britpicked as the others, so forgive my mistakes. If you want to be my beta, message me (: 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> P.S.: Thanks for all the comments and kudos! You're all fantastic!

 

Mary let herself fall to the floor, as tired as she could be. Her mind was full of doubts, about Irene, about this whole “secret investigation”, about John's safety, about her future. The only thing she didn't have any doubt about was Holmes' guilt. She followed Adler's instructions, got the car and the equipment and went to the god-damned lake to look for the god-damned body. But she never actually got to the search part, instead she started to cry like a newborn, back leaned on a tree facing the water. After some minutes she found herself on the muddy floor, eyes red and cheeks flushed.

How could her life change so much in such a short period of time? She was happy with her love, having a good calm life and then out of nowhere came this storm creating a chaos in her world. She stared at the lake and wondered what was the point in trying to act right now. Sherlock Holmes had acted wrong his entire life and nothing bad ever happened to him. He had managed to kill everyone who stood in his way and stole the love of her life. All that by doing nothing but bad things. Even if Adler was being honest about cleaning her name how would that happen? And who could guarantee Holmes wouldn't do something worse when he found out? She was tired, mental and physically. First Holmes used her and now this Adler woman. She's better than that, Mary Morstan is an intelligent and secure woman and she wasn't born to be anyone's mat. She needed to start doing things her own way, enough of following people's leads. She would make her own rules now, take the leaps she didn't know would result in anything good, but at least would be _her_ leaps, _her_ risks, _her_ decisions.

First thing, she needed to find some leverage, there was no point going full speed without any cards on her sleeves; that would be stupid. Second, backup, she could very well protect herself in most occasions but she needed a witness, someone who could confirm her word. Third and most obviously, a concrete plan.  She could think of her leverage and the person she could use, but she needed to build a concise and practical script to put everything together, and she would have to do that in a shorter than desirable period of time. No problems, she was smart and fast, when she put her head to do something she managed to conquer it. And she knew with all her brains and heart that she wouldn't let John go again. Not without her dying first.

 

–

 

“Why that boy?” Irene asked, legs crossed, hands clasped in front of her. Of course she didn't expect the killer to answer her, after all they were facing each other for about fifteen minutes while the driver headed to the small – but nonetheless fancy – cottage that Mr. Mycroft Holmes had arranged for their meeting just in the outskirts of town. The Watson boy had probably arrived her a few minutes ago, driven by another one of Holmes' men. She was almost surprised by the quantity of people that man could conjure whenever and wherever he wanted to. “I mean, why John Watson? I imagine that if you would ever fall in love it would be with someone as intelligent and merciless as yourself. Not such a sweet and _ordinary_ person like J--”

“You know _nothing_ about him.” Sherlock growled, glaring at her, his cold blue eyes sharp as daggers. “Or me.”

I rene wouldn't admit that, so instead she smirked, satisfied that at least she managed to make him speak. Truth be told, she was curious. “When I first heard of you I never imagined things to get a twist because of... Love.” She spat the last word as if it was made of shit. “Now look, you are actually going to your brother to save your little flower. How odd is that? I'm sure you never thought this would happen to you, something so  defective as affection.”

The younger Holmes just turned his face to the car window and pretended to watch the trees outside.  Apparently her curiosity wouldn't be satisfied soon. His silence was some kind of answer, though, if she over-analysed it.  He clearly was still confused by all the things, but it was obvious he felt so strongl y he didn't know what to do or how to proceed with it.  She could probably have felt sorry for him if he wasn't a psychopathic  murderer.

No words were said during the rest of the ride.  Irene noticed Sherlock got slightly more uneasy and restless when he spotted the cottage getting closer. She looked at him and could swear she saw some colour on his protuberant cheekbones. She couldn't tell for sure what Mycroft would do to him or if he would do something at all, neither what he planned for Watson.  She knew the British Government was usually cold and straight to business, but when things were about his baby brother the man seemed to be a bit confused or even impulsive, maybe a strong word but certainly not far from the truth.

A s soon as the car stopped, Sherlock jumped out of it without a second thought. Sighing, Irene hurried to do the same, following the young man a few steps behind.  There were two guards at the door, but before any of them could move the wooden entrance opened revealing a calm – or seemingly calm – Mycroft Holmes. 

“Dear brother”, he grinned. “Ms. Adler”, he greeted looking at Irene who bowed her head in acknowledgement as she entered the place after both Holmes'. “Finally. How was the trip?”

“Quite quiet.” Irene shrugged. 

“Mycroft, stop stalling. Where's John?” Sherlock snarled.

T he older Holmes walked to a crimson armchair, gesturing for Sherlock and Irene to sit on the ones in front of his before he did that himself. “ He is here”, the ginger sighed when his brother ignored his request and stood there glaring at him. Irene rested her back on the soft black wool of the chair, feeling a bit relaxed. “But you won't see him until we have the so delayed talk.” He continued.

“No need to talk, just spit whatever you want me to do out and let John free.”

Mycroft sighed. “ Life isn't that simple, you know well, brother.  I've done everything I could to help you stop doing... This. I had given up, Sherlock, I was ready to sell you out to the police, that's why I hired Ms. Adler here, but  when I realised the influence John Watson had on you I thought that maybe you still have a chance of redeeming, of quitting this... Life.”

S herlock took a deep breath. “I... It's true.” He simply said, slightly grimacing at the admission. “I want John to be safe, even from myself. He deserves someone better than me, but I'm not willing to let him go, therefore I had considered... Changing my habits.”

Mycroft tilted his head a bit. “ He doesn't know, though, does he?” He asked, already sure of the answer, Irene guessed.

S herlock barely shook his head, a thin layer of shame on his angular face. “He can't--”

“He will. And then two things can happen.” Mycroft stood up, straightening his three piece suit with both hands. “Either Watson will forgive you and choose to stay by your side, or – the most likely one – he will want distance from you and everything you carry. If the first option happens, I will assure you two lovebirds disappear to a safe place to never been seen again by any potential enemies. If the second scenario occurs, John will be kept under my radar, and you will still go to that far away place, but alone. And you will be sure to stay in line, Sherlock, or your John will feel the consequences.”

S herlock's eyes widened for a moment. “I believe this if far from being fair, Mycroft.  You are right to think John will help me stop the killing, but telling him would--”

“He will only help you the way I want to if he knows the entire truth. If he doesn't, I'll still find a way to use him against you. It seems more fair than you deserve, little brother.” Mycroft cooly said. “Now, Ms. Adler, if you don't mind calling the boy.”

I rene stood up silently and went upstairs without  r ushing herself. She opened the first room door and leaned against the frame. John was seated  on the big oaken windowsill reading a thick blue covered book. He was so immersed in the page that didn't notice her presence. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Watson, you're needed downstairs.”

John's dark blue eyes shone and he quickly closed the book, walking towards her. “Is Sherlock there then?”

“Oh yes, he is.”

 

–

 

She admit t ed she was better at that than she thought she would be.  The transport part was easy, the car was available thanks to Adler, the gun and more money she got at her own place.  There was no police car next to her apartment and even if they were she would have managed anyway, breaking through the back window that was right to her bedroom.  Getting the rest of the clothes and disguise was cool enough, she has done something similar before in her teen years, nothing too important, obviously, but enough to get some experience.  So Mary was very pleased when she stared at her reflection in the store's mirror. High heels, purple tight dress, jeans jacket,  dark brown  haired wig,  maroon framed glasses and  light blue hat. Very different from the small but never too feminine blonde girl who walked with all so much attitude  with her tennis shoes around the small village.

H er heart beat even faster as she walked by some nurses and doctors that had seen her before in the old hospital. Nobody spared her a second glance,  something she was extremely thankful for.  When Mary asked the number of the room saying she was a friend, the receptionist didn't bother ask for an ID – as she knew it would happen – she simply told her it was the 303. 

B efore she opened the white door, Mary instinctively touched her gun inside the jacket's pocket just to feel a little bit safer. With a deep breath and a cold look on his face she turned the doorknob. The room smelled  to  antibiotics and disinfectant.  The body in the bed was half seated, staring at the ceiling. He definitely looked better than the last time she had seen him. 

“Sebastian.” She murmured.

He looked at her as if awakened from some reverie. “Who are you?” He asked, narrowing his eyes warily.

Mary sighed. He was never the brightest in the group. She removed the hat and the wig, then took her glasses off.

His eyes were in the size of the moon. “Mary. What do you want? Did you come to finish your job?”

“Kind of, yes. But I won't hurt you again unless you decide to be a bore.” She walked closer and sat down in the visit's chair, opening her jacket to make it clear she had a weapon on her. “And don't even bother calling the nurses, you wouldn't manage to press the button anyway. So... Jim's dead, what I know you know.”

“You killed him, I was told.” There was anger in his tone; she wasn't surprised. “Shouldn't you be in jail?”

“I should. Just like you will be when the doctors say you're completely healed. I see they already took precaution.” She gestured to Moran's left wrist, cuffed to the bed. The other arm was still in a cast. 

“My lawyers said they'll let me go after court, they don't have enough proof.” 

“They don't, but I do.” She bluffed. “Which won't matter much, to be honest, because if you don't help me I'll have to put a bullet in your brain right now.”

Moran snorted. “And then you'd be caught. What's the point?”

“I have a silencer. I walk away again without anyone noticing until too late. It's your choice, Moran.” Mary never raised her voice or showed any kind of fear. She was quite impressed with herself again.

“What do you want?” He muttered.

The blonde woman grinned.

 


	19. To put your finger on the trouble when the trouble is you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeep, I'm back!
> 
> So sorry for the long hiatus, I'm dealing with some issues and although it's not all completely okay I just couldn't keep you waiting even more for the next updates, so here it is!  
> Now expect a new chapter every week (:
> 
> Please, remember I have no beta or britpicker (if you're interested to help please contact me!) so forgive my grammar mistakes!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it x

 

Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. Each step John took downstairs caused earthquakes in Sherlock's mind. He stood up and looked at the blond boy's gentle face. There was no suspicious, no anger, no judgment, only relief. And all that was going to change in the next minutes. He sighed, trying to prepare himself for the talk. Irene was coming down just behind John and he hated her image right there. She looked like an angel of death, proclaiming the ruin of his life.

“Sherlock”, John barely murmured when he finally got downstairs. He moved closer to Sherlock but stopped when his eyes roamed towards Mycroft who was still tranquilly seated but in Sherlock's opinion looked like a vulture ready to ravish their corpses.

Sherlock opened his arms as an invitation and John thankfully accepted it. He held his love tight and buried his nose on the silky blond hair. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of their beating hearts together. That might be the last time. Their last time. He knew he needed to do something about it, he needed to find a way out of this trap. But he couldn't. He was stuck in his brother's grip now. Sherlock was a survivor, he always managed to have the upper hand but that was when bloody Mycroft wasn't involved. Since they were children, he was never able to trick Mycroft for too long, and how many times he thought he was tricking him when in reality his brother was only letting him, _teaching_ him that no matter what he was always going to be a few steps ahead of Sherlock.

After a while John pulled slightly back and looked at him with those bright deep blue eyes. “Nobody explained me anything, but I know he's your brother and she...” John turned his gaze to Irene who was still standing, back leaned against the handrail, face serene and a hint of a smirk there. “Well, she works for him. But why exactly was I brought here? What's going on, Sherlock?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Why don't you tell him exactly what's going on?” Mycroft prompted with an acid tone.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother but took a deep breath. “Could you at least give us some privacy?” Without turning from facing Mycroft he pointed a finger on Irene's direction. “You too.”

Mycroft seemed to consider that for a moment, staring right at his younger brother's silver eyes. Finally he straightened his suit and stood up. “Alright. I'll be outside _with_ the security, must I remember you. Don't take too long or I'll take matters into my own hands. Come, Ms. Adler.”

Irene passed by them with that irritating look in her eyes, the look that meant she was above them in the current situation. Sherlock would be interested to dismantle and analyze what that meant but right then he had other important business to deal with. His life, to be more specific. He came to realise that _life_ and _John_ were pretty much synonymous lately. As absurd as that might have seemed for him some time ago. John was like a storm, destroying his convictions and turning everything upside down in a beautiful way. And he just couldn't let he go. He couldn't.

“Sherlock?” John said, more impatiently now. “My life's a mess right now. Everything is wrong and chaotic. You are the only thing keeping me grounded and sane. Please, tell me this isn't going to change?”

Sherlock's heart ached. He wanted to tell him everything would be fine, that they could run and have a stable life together, that he wasn't letting anything happen to him. But instead he said, “I'm sorry, John, but I-”

“Is your brother from the government or something? Please Sherlock, just spit it out, yeah?” John frowned, those adorable wrinkles on his forehead that Sherlock would like to kiss away.

“Yes, he is. He... John, listen to me.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a mere second and as gently as he could he grabbed John shoulders. “We had a fantastic time, despite everything that happened, hadn't we? We were there for each other. You know how I feel about you. I've never felt this for anyone else, not even close. It's all happening so fast, but I regret nothing. Nothing at all.” Sherlock realised by John's confused sweet face that he was speaking too fast. “I'll do everything for you, John. All I want is your well being. All I care is you. You know that, right?”

John nodded. “Yes, Sherlock. But that doesn't-”

Sherlock interrupted the shorter boy by softly pressing a finger to his lips. “Shh, please, my love, let me continue.” He slid his finger up to caress John's cheek. “I'm sick, though. I'm very sick, John. Sometimes I just... Can't control my actions. I've done some real bad things because of it. And I want to stop it. I want to be better, healthy.”

“You mean like a mental issue? What kind of issue?” John looked intently at his face hands stilled by his side.

Sherlock barely hesitated. “Sociopathy. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes...” John flinched slightly. “What have you done, Sherlock?”

He knew this part would come. And he knew he couldn't lie about the part he murdered John's friends, otherwise Mycroft would find out and screw him even more. He wouldn't be surprised if his brother came in afterward to question John about what exactly Sherlock had told him in case John choose to stay with him – which was unlikely.

“I've killed people, John.” He said, trying to keep a cool but resented voice. His eyes never left John's.

Sherlock could feel John wanted to back away but instead forced himself to keep his ground. _My brave John._ “How many?” The blond's voice was a bit shaken but his face was perfectly steady.

“ _Many_. I've been doing it for years now.” Sherlock swallowed. “And...”

Before he could continue, though, John cut him off with a sharp tone. “It was you, wasn't it? Everything that happened so far.” The blond's fists were tightly clenched and he had a severe expression Sherlock had never seen. When the genius hesitated to answer, John continued. “I thought... Deep down I thought you had something to do with it, because everything was working fine... And then you appeared and suddenly there was chaos. But-- I didn't want to believe, you were so good to me. Nobody has ever looked at me the way you did, not even Jim. So I tried to hide those thoughts, I kept telling myself I was imagining things.”

Sherlock was truly surprised. He had underestimated John. This could either make things easier or harder. “John, I--”

“Victor and Molly, yes?” John snapped.

Sherlock could only nod.

“You planned on Jim and Mary too, didn't you? You ruined everybody's lives.” John snarled at him, anger quite visible on his usual calm face.

“They weren't who you think they--”

“Oh no, really? What about you, hum? Don't be a hypocrite, please! What they are doesn't excuse the fact of what _you_ are!”

“John. John. I told you, I'm sick. It's all my fault, but--”

“You killed my friends, Sherlock! People I grew up with! And you turned my girlfriend into a killer just like you!” John shook his head and snorted bitterly. “You can't expect me to forgive you now, can you? Even with all these 'I'm sick' shit. Damn it, Sherlock. I thought you were my safe haven! I wanted to believe you were. I guess I even did. But now... How can I?”

“I'm trying to stop. It's like an addiction, John. But with you around I feel like I can quit. I can live a normal-- almost normal life with you. You make me better, John. Please, don't--”

“Stop, Sherlock. You can't do this. You can't put this responsibility on me.” John's expression was now sadder than angry, his eyes were on the floor. “You should surrender, you... You should answer for your crimes.”

Sherlock's heart was beating so fast he thought it might fly away through his mouth. “I thought you cared about me, John.” He knew this was plain manipulation, but what choice did he have? He couldn't really lie to John, but he just couldn't let the boy walk away from him like that. It was for their own good, after all.

John looked up. “I do, but I cared about my friends too and you killed them! You murdered them cold blooded, didn't you? I don't even want to know how or what you did with their bodies...” The blond closed his eyes and Sherlock thought he was going to cry, but instead he muttered, “I'm sorry Molly, I'm sorry Victor... I'm sorry. I'll betray their memories if I continue with you, Sherlock. You won't stop. You need to-- Wait. You brother knows, of course. He won't allow you to get arrested, will he?” John took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sherlock... What are you going to do with me? What is _he_ going to do with me?”

Sherlock's eyes widened. John wasn't afraid of him, was he? John needed to know Sherlock would never hurt him and he would never let anyone hurt him. Not again. “John, I love you. Nothing will happen to you if you choose to leave me...” His voice dropped a bit on the last words.

“What if I decide to tell the police? What then? What will your brother do?” John glared daggers at him.

“You will never get the chance to do such thing, Mr. Watson.” Mycroft's obnoxious voice resonated through the room while he silently entered the house again.

Sherlock quickly walked so he could stay between his brother and John. “Mycroft, we're not finished yet. Leave--”

“I disagree, brother. I think you two are quite finished. Mr. Watson surely made his point clear.” The older Holmes stepped aside and gestured to his guards outside. “Take my brother out.”

Before Mycroft's minions could reach Sherlock or even before Sherlock managed to react, John's voice cut the air. “Wait! Wait. Where are you taking him?”

“I believe this doesn't concern you anymore, Mr. Watson.” Mycroft simply said, gesturing to his men to continue with their work.

“Stop. You don't want me to tell the police, ok I get it, but what are you going to do with him?” John insisted, pulling Sherlock back from the second man's grasp.

The guard was about to push John away when Sherlock practically growled. “Don't touch him.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You made your choice, Mr. Watson. Now I can't allow the entire country to know my brother is a serial killer, you see, that would be terrible for our family's name. But I can't just let him be free either, can I? I've allowed him free for way too long. And since you won't help, I need to deal with it myself the way I find more... Beneficial.”

“I couldn't help him even if I wanted to! And it's not fair that I--” John started but was interrupted by the older Holmes.

“II understand, Mr. Watson. Truly, I do. But please, if you aren't going to do anything to help then just be quiet and let the guards take him.”

“Sherlock...” John was still holding to his arm and the genius tried to enjoy the touch as much as he could. He knew Mycroft was putting on a little show; Sherlock didn't need to be escorted to the car and his brother was aware of it. He was glad Mycroft thought about the scheme, though, it seemed his plan was working if the worried look on John's face was anything to go by. “Can you at least tell me where you're taking him?”

“The name is not important. Hopefully the shock treatment will work, though. I'm putting a lot of money on that place.” Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock was surprised his brother was actually trying to truly _help_ him. Of course he wouldn't get any shock therapy, Mycroft would probably send him to one of his private islands. Sherlock needed to cooperate with their little theatre, though. “John, it's okay. I'll keep you in my thoughts and it won't hurt so much.” He said while the guards started to drag him away again.

“No! Wait. Stop. Mr. Holmes. Okay. I'll stay!” John exclaimed just moments before Sherlock was completely out of the house.

Mycroft signaled the men to stop. He turned to John, an amused expression on his usual serious face. “Excuse me?”

John closed his eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath. “You heard me. Please, don't take him to that awful place. I... I'll stay with him. I don't know how—I'm not sure what to-- But okay.”

Good, sweet, brave, caretaker John. _His_ John. Sherlock knew his boy wouldn't disappoint him. He had to hold back a large grin from making an appearance on his face. Mycroft hummed and tilted his head almost comically.

“Are you sure, Mr. Watson?” He asked. “Sherlock deserves--”

“Yes, he does. But I'll never be able to live with myself knowing I turned my back on him.” John spoke fiercely, without breaking eye contact. “Maybe it's possible to... Change him.”

“Loyal that fast, aren't we?” Mycroft snapped his fingers and the guards let Sherlock go.

The relieved genius was on his way to John when the shot cut through the window pane.

 


	20. Somebody stepped inside your soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello AO3, my old friend...
> 
> Yes, I know. I'm terrible. SORRY. I'm not going through the best moment of my life and that completely destroyed any inspiration I might have. BUT, I'm dealing better with it now so the inspiration is slowly coming back to me. Soon enough I'll finish all my stories, you can bet on that!
> 
> Thank you for leaving comments, I promise to reply them as soon as I can!
> 
> Also, the usual: this is not beta'd or britpicke'd and I'm not a native English speaker, so you'll probably find mistakes here that I hope will not disturb your understanding. Apologies.
> 
> Enjoy it!

 

One of Mycroft's security men fell down on the ground, a bullet in his forehead. Sherlock quickly walked to John and dropped them both to the floor, covering the shorter's boy body with his own. Not even ten seconds after the first shot another one was fired, hitting the chandelier. Mycroft was hiding behind the armchair while another guard of his was blindly shooting outside. It didn't take long until this man also had a bullet in his brains. Whoever was shooting from outside was certainly a much better shooter than Mycroft's minions. Sherlock had a very good idea of who they were.

“What's going on?!” John muttered underneath him. “Why are they--”

Before he could finish, though, another shot resonated and they could hear Mycroft's third guard's body hit the floor in front of the house. They didn't have any security now, no advantage, and Sherlock didn't have his weapons with him. He looked at his brother that had an exasperated expression on his face Sherlock had never seen before, he was really taken by surprise.

“Wait, wait... Don't do anything to me. I don't have any guns. Please.” Irene's voice came from outside, she sounded really scared but then again she was a hell of an actress and Sherlock couldn't tell if she was really being threatened.

There were a few footsteps, the shooters were coming closer to the entrance. Sherlock slowly stood up, gesturing John to stay down. He held his head high and put on his usual austere face, trying to disguise all the uncertainty and fear he was really feeling. He didn't fear for himself – he never did – but he knew that whatever happened right now might bring John away from him and that thought only was quite frightening. Sherlock wasn't surprised, though, when Mary Morstan entered the house with a gun in hand and a very dangerous fierceness in her light blue eyes.

“Mary? What--” John gasped, suddenly standing up with his back to Sherlock.

“John...” Mary's voice was surprisingly soft when she turned to look at John. “You're safe now. They won't keep dragging you to their mess anymore. I'm here to free you.”

Sherlock took one step forward to get closer to John but Mary aimed the gun right into his heart. Heart. _Heart is personal,_ Sherlock's mind supplied as if it wasn't obvious. He stopped moving but managed to put a hand on the blond boy's shoulder. “John, you remember what--”

“Shut up, Holmes. One more word, one more step, one more anything and your brother dies.” Mary calmly said, but the anger in her voice was almost tangible.

Sherlock looked to where his brother was no longer hiding but standing, trying to look in charge when the reality couldn't be more contrary. Sure enough there was a familiar red dot on the older Holmes' forehead. Sherlock had suspected that. Mary wouldn't have tried to attack the house full of guards on her own, she was furious but not crazy, and she was undoubtedly very smart. The fact that she put her sniper to aim at Mycroft showed Sherlock she had a much worse future planned for him, which wasn't too absurd considering the things Sherlock put her through. He understood her side, he truly did, but he just couldn't – wouldn't – let go of John. He didn't have a plan yet, his mind palace was a bit of a chaos in that moment but he forced himself to think of something fast.

“Mary! You can't just do that! You're already in trouble, what are you thinking?!” John shouted, running his left hand nervously through his mussed hair.

“John, Sherlock is not who you think he is--” Mary started but John cut her off.

“I know what he is, Mary. I know what kind of monster he is.” John's tone was tired, it was pretty clear he was on the verge of breaking, but Sherlock knew he would resist until the end. John was that strong, that brave. The word 'monster' coming from John's mind hurt but he guessed he deserved it.

“So you know you have to come with me. Come on, wait for me outside, I'll have to deal with the Holmes brothers first.” She stepped aside to let John pass but he just stood there staring at her. “John? You're not their prisoner anymore. You're free, come on!”

“Mary... Please, go away. Leave the country. Hide. Be safe, please.” John said, voice lower than before.

“I will, but not without you.” She closed her eyes for a moment and made an impatient gesture. “I don't understand why you can't just come! Did they brainwash you that badly?!”

“ _They_ did no such thing. Mr. Watson made his choice, the best choice he could make. And I suggest you do the same, Miss Morstan. I don't know how you found this place, but next time I will know not to underestimate you.” Mycroft spoke for the first time since the attack, and his voice was as certain as ever even with that bright red dot on his face.

The blonde woman snorted. “Oh please, you think you still have the advantage here? Besides, you should be  more  careful when hiring employees.”

Sherlock thought of Irene Adler. He had no idea how many parallel plans that woman had under her sleeves, she wasn't probably even around there anymore. Impressive, but right then he  could only feel disgust towards her.

“Mary. I love you. I do, I never stopped loving you. You disappointed me, it's true, but I don't know if I would have acted any different if I was in your position. And Sherlock is... He's sick and he won't stop if I don't help him.” John sighed. “You think I'll be free if I just leave with you? You think I don't know you'll kill them both? How do you think I'll live knowing it was my fault? I'll carry all of their deaths on my shoulders. Victor’s, Molly's, Jim's, they already haunt me every night, do you want to add more weight to my conscience?” 

Mary shook her head but her hand was still grasping the gun  hard . “ This is not your fault, John. Nothing that's happened is your fault!  Can't you see? You're the victim here. We're both victims! I have no choice but to kill them, for yours and mine sake!  I'm not doing it for pleasure like he does!” She pointed her right hand to Sherlock 's direction .

“Plea--” 

Sherlock couldn't hear whatever John was saying anymore because something else caught  his complete attention: the red point on his brother's forehead had disappeared. That meant the sniper – something told Sherlock it was Sebastian Moran – wasn't on his position  anymore , which could mean he ran away or that someone  had  got him. Either option was favourable enough for Sherlock. He looked at Mary and realized she hadn't notice the lack of sniper yet, in fact she seemed quite distracted by what John was saying, Sherlock could swear he saw some tears in her eyes. That was his moment. He glanced at Mycroft and the older Holmes nodded slightly.

Mycroft knocked  down the lamp on the table next to the armchair causing a loud crash on the floor. Mary turned to look and Sherlock quickly took two big steps towards her, grabbed her smaller hand and twisted it. She screamed and the gun fell down, but he didn't have time to pick it up because apparently Mary had a hidden  knife somewhere and she wasn't gentle when she pierced it through Sherlock's shoulder.

He heard John screaming his name but couldn't go to him, in fact he couldn't do much but trying to blindly take the mad blonde's hand off of him, she was still piercing and twisting the knife inside of his body and the pain was excruciating. Through the corner of his eyes he saw Mycroft jumping on Mary, grabbing her waist and trying to pull her off his baby brother, he succeed it but she roughly pulled the knife out of Sherlock and thrust it on the ginger Holmes' thigh. Mycroft let her go on reflex and she was about to slice his throat when the sound of a bullet cutting the air almost deafened him. The knife fell on the ground as Mary cried and held the bloody pulp that used to be her hand to her chest. Sherlock turned his head and there was John. Head high, eyes filled with tears and left hand gripping the gun Mary had dropped. Sherlock's chest was full of pride and love for his blond boy. He had shot Mary – his ex-girlfriend, someone he grew up with, someone he still loved – to protect Mycroft and therefore Sherlock. In his mind it was pretty clear John had chosen _him_.  That thought gave him strength to stand up, one hand still on his shoulder trying to stanch the blood.

“John, it's okay.” He said, voice more strained than he was expecting.

T he blond wasn't looking at him, though, his eyes were on the crying Mary who was currently on her knees. Mycroft was some meters away from her, also on the floor, tying his jacket suit around his wounded thigh.  John dropped the gun down and passed by Sherlock without even looking him in the eye.  He knelt down next to the blonde girl and hugged her shoulders, murmuring apologies to her ear.  That scene stung Sherlock's heart but he told himself it was fine. John needed that moment, he was sensible  and had just made a difficult decision, Sherlock could understand that.

He was so distracted that he barely missed the police sirens coming from outside. Soon enough a gray haired man entered the house with a pistol in his hand and a confused look on his tired face. “What the hell happened here?!”

“Oh the police! Clueless as usual. I wonder who called you here. I _really_ need to start being more careful when hiring my employees.” Mycroft's tone was bored as he rolled his eyes to the police  officer. It was amazing how his brother could keep the arrogant façade on even when he was bleeding out on the floor. 

“Are you hurt?” The man asked.

“Nah, just a flesh wound!” His brother snorted. “To make it easier for you: this woman invaded my property, pointed a gun at my brother and had a sniper aiming at me. When my brother tried to disarm her she stabbed him in the shoulder and then did the same to my thigh. Mr. Watson there had no choice but to shoot her hand to help me. There you go.”

T he officer nodded and gestured so his team could enter,  then he turned to Mycroft again.  “We took the  ' sniper ' down.  H e was just a kid,  probably her age.” He said pointing at Mary. “Okay, ambulance is coming.  Once you all have proper  medical  care we'll decide what  t o  do to you .  But, girl, things don't look too good for you, let me tell you that.”

  


–

  


Sherlock hated hospitals, and there was something particularly worse about small town's hospitals. They dragged him away from John. Since John was  physically  okay, he  was taken to be interrogated. Sherlock wasn't worried about what his boyfriend would say –  he trusted him.  After they tended to his shoulder, he was asked to stay in his room to recover since his body was still quite weak. He couldn't take  that anymore, he was lying there for hours already! He wanted nothing more than to be with John. He wondered if they haven't released him yet since the blond still hadn't come to visit him. When the door opened he had a bit of hope that was soon crashed the moment he saw his brother's weary face.  He was using crutches and had a bit of difficulty to close the door behind him.  Any other time and Sherlock would have thought that amusing.

“What do you want?” Sherlock petulantly asked.

“Miss Morstan is screaming to the entire hospital that you're a serial killer and that we're both monsters, this sort of thing.” Mycroft said as he sat down on the bedside chair.

“You don't look so worried.” Sherlock stated.

“I believe the word the police used to describe her was 'hysterical'. They might also have noted something about 'mentally unstable'. She was the one to cause all the trouble, after all.”

S herlock would feel sorry for her if she hadn't tried to kill him and take John away just some hours ago. “ The pseudo-sniper was Moran, I take.”

“Indeed. He is going on trials. Nothing shocking, though, he has a bad history with the police.”

“Do you know about John? Where is he?”

M ycroft sighed and leaned his head against the chair. “I don't know, Sherlock.”

“You know about Mary and Sebastian, but no words on John?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“No.” Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Last thing I heard was that he's being interrogated.”

“Yes, I know that.” Sherlock growled. “It's been hours.”

T here was a knock on the door, Sherlock asked them in with a bored tone, knowing it wasn't John –  the blond wouldn't have to knock .  In fact, the gray haired police man from before and two more officers entered his room. Sherlock frowned. Why would he need backup?  Something was wrong.

“How can we help you?” Mycroft used his fake polite voice.

“Sherlock Holmes, you are under arrest for the murder of Victor Trevor and Molly Hooper. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you.”

  



	21. Epilogue

 

** THREE YEARS LATER **

  


John took a sip of his hot tea and opened his laptop. He had so many texts to read it was hard keeping up. His colleagues did warn him the third term was the worst, but he was glad. He liked work. He liked tasks and anything that would keep his mind busy. The café he was in was peaceful enough, only some other fellow students around, plus the waitress was really cute and kept throwing smiles at him. He liked to flirt but he wasn't ready yet. He tried, god haven't he tried. Jean, Sam, Kelly. They could all testify he did his best to be a good boyfriend but it never worked. Thankfully they had stayed friends; that always put a smile to his face. If anyone saw him now they would surely label him as lucky, and he never argued with that. He was lucky in a way. He was in Doctor school, something he always dreamed of; he had friends, he had a good flat, a good internship. He smiled more, he laughed easier and the dark images were rare these days. But still... There was always that feeling at the back of his neck.

He never regretted what he did. He still talked to Mike Stamford sometimes. John could never truly express how thankful he was to the boy. It took a great deal of bravery to tell the police what Sherlock had done and where Victor's body could be found, but after a little persuasion from John he admitted Mary went by his house that day to tell him what she knew about Sherlock's killings. Apparently that was her backup plan in case something went wrong on her attack. _Mary_. John tried not to think of her but it was inevitable. He had no idea where she was now. Hopefully safe. She stayed in jail for some time but after Sherlock's trials had ended her sentence was reduced and she left some months later.

Mike and John were still on the witness protection even after Sherlock's arrest. Mycroft Holmes worked for the government and was still out there even after being indicted for obstruction of justice – of course they wouldn't be able to put him behind bars. John suspected the man knew exactly where he was but had decided to let him be. And Sherlock... John had mixed feelings every time he thought about the curled haired man. He didn't regret what he did, but he couldn't help the uneasiness in his stomach when he remembered the kisses, the words, the moments they shared. His therapists had told him that what they had wasn't real, that it was all plain manipulation and all these things related to sociopaths. John knew Sherlock was far from being normal, but he couldn't believe his love wasn't real. His doctors didn't see the way the brunet looked at John, the way he used to hold him and kiss him. They didn't know. He still had nightmares about it.

H e stopped reading news about Sherlock. The last thing he knew – the last thing he needed to know – was the date of his arrest, and that was it.  He knew eventually all of the sadness, the desperation, the madness he had gone through would vanish. Eventually. Until then he was going to live his life the best way possible.

“Do you need anything else?” The pretty waitress asked with that bright smile on her face.

He smiled back just as bright ly . “No, thanks. Or... Maybe a piece of cake?”

“Sure thing.” If she was shaking her hips a bit more when she turned around to take his order it was probably his impression.

F ortunately he was able to read a couple of texts  before he had to  leave . He still had to pass by the lab to take some biology reports from a research he was doing. He closed his laptop, stood up and left a  very good tip for the sweet waitress. Maybe next time he would leave his number. It wouldn't work  for long , but maybe they could enjoy themselves for a while.  When he was opening the café door to leave he made sure to smile widely at her. 

T he lab wasn't too far away from there so he decided to walk. The weather was fine, clouded as usual but not suffocatingly so.  He liked the quantity of people walking around him. It was good to live in a big city, he didn't feel lonely or dislocated. 

A s he was walking he felt a strange sensation.  Like he was being observed. He had that kind of feeling in the first year after all the mess, but therapy had helped. He wasn't nearly as paranoid as he used to be. But what he was feeling then was different. He turned his head to  search around for any familiar faces but there was no one watching him. It was probably just his mind playing tricks on him, nothing out of the ordinary. 

H e  kept that thought in his head, but then he saw it. 

Maybe he shouldn't have looked across the street, but he did  it anyway . And there they were. Those familiar translucent eyes. Observing him.  _Devouring_ him.

He stopped  abruptly with a gasp and someone bumped onto him, he apologised and  quickly  turned his head again to where  he  had seen Sherlock, but  there was no one there.

Was John seeing things? He was right there!  Wasn't he?

He  stood there for a moment, breathing hard,  his  hands shaking a little. It was probably just someone that looked like him – and dressed like him. Nonsense. John was thinking about him some  hours before so that's why he thought he had seen him. Yes, that was it. He chuckled a bit nervously and shook his head  while start ing to walk again, heart beating fast in his chest. It was nothing, he told himself.  He would never see Sherlock Holmes again.

R ight?

  


  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap!  
> Some of you hate me, I know. Sorry?  
> Anyway, leave a comment and tell me what you think! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading it! Please write a comment if you want to, it always makes me smile :D


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